Page 21 of Dancing in the Dark

Her eyes alight with playfulness. “Sì.”

“I…” My brows furrow as I wonder for a moment if I’m stupid. Did I stroke out? Did I get hit by a bus? “Sì? That’s not Chinese.”

“Oh, I know,” she giggles. “I don’t know Chinese. I thought my response made that clear.”

“Detective?” The coffee cart vendor calls out. “You’re up!”

“Hold that thought.” I release her hand and dart his way, juggling two steaming cups and the envelope I’m supposed to protect with my life. Coming back, I offer both and allow her to choose.

“Thank you.” She wears a stunning pink blush today and takes the cup from my envelope hand, not-so-sneakily tilting her head to the side and reading the name written in pen. Sorry, babe. There’s nothing exciting there for you to see. Exhaling a happy sigh, she brings her eyes back up to mine. “How was Mia this morning? Overly tired because of her hardcore party lifestyle?”

“She slept all night except for a fast bathroom break at one, then she tried to convince me school was optional, and that hanging out with Cato all day is a valid career choice.”

She snickers.

“I disagreed and said she had to go to school.”

“She was fine with that?”

“No. My five-year-old has somehow become the owner of a fancy watch that makes calls and sends texts, and each time I ask her where she got it from, she says ‘Cato says you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it.’”

She chokes out a startling laugh and claps her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. “She has too much power, Charlie. Oh my gosh. It’s terrifying!”

“No, shit! So I said how she had to go to school, and sent her to her room to get dressed. Five minutes later, I walked into the hall and listened to that little turd call Cato and ask him to play hooky with her.”

“What’d he say?”

“He was smart enough to hear me the first time I told him school was number one, so if he ever signed her out early, encouraged her to skip days, became her alibi to avoid learning, or in any way got between her and an education, I’d snap his neck and dispose of his body.”

Her eyes flare wide. “And he… accepted that?”

I snort. “No. But then I said it’s our job, our most important job as the adults who love a little girl the way we do, to make the right choices for her, even if those choices aren’t very much fun. Even if skipping school and gorging on ice cream all day is tempting, it’s not in her best interests, so if he’s ever faced with a choice between what’s fun and what’s best, he must choose right.”

She exhales a breath of relief. “And he listened to that?”

“Mmhm. Especially the bit where I said only folks with her best interests at heart get to have a relationship with her. Playing hooky for a day isn’t worth losing access.”

“But the watch thing?”

“Oh, I’ve totally lost that battle,” I chuckle. “But Mia’s at school, which means I haven’t lost the war. Uncle Cato still has access to his favorite little girlfriend, and now I’m here…” Look into my eyes and love me back, Sera! “With you.” I grin. “It’s a good day.”

“Yeah.” Shy, but smiling, she looks down at her coffee and traces the tip of her finger around the plastic-capped edge. “It sure seems that way. Are you not…” Curious, she brings her gaze up again. “My workday hasn’t started yet, but I thought yours would have. Where’s Archer?”

“At the station catching up on paperwork until some dumb schmuck ends up dead and becomes our case. And I guess in the most technical sense, I’m working right now, in that my lieutenant believes I’m talking to a CI about a lead I caught on a case.”

Her lips move into an O, a questioning curiosity. “Are you meeting with a CI?”

“Nope. But that sort of stuff is normally anonymous, which makes it impossible for the brass to track. The fact my partner ain’t a snitch means I got to drop my baby off at school, and now I’m having a coffee with you.”

“Seraphina?”

Startled, she swings around and risks spilling piping hot coffee on her pretty dress. “Anderson! What are you—” She noisily gulps and turns a shade or two paler. “Um… wow. Okay.”

“Detective Fischer, right?” Anderson, a douchey-looking office drone in an expensive suit and shiny shoes, closes the space between us and offers his right hand. This motherfucker certainly thinks highly of himself. “Anderson Markum, De⁠—”

“Deputy Legal Counsel for the Port Authority. Yeah.” I tuck my envelope under one arm, transfer my coffee across, and shake his hand with my right. “I know who you are. And it’s Detective Fletcher.” I squeeze a little tighter and force a grin. “Charlie Fletcher. We’ve crossed paths over the last few months.”

“Mmm.” He pulls back and makes a point of studying the fancy Rolex on his wrist. “Are you ready to go in, Sera? It’s time to brief Mayor Lawrence.”