Page 52 of Dancing in the Dark

Not.

“You’re driven and singularly focused. You’re intelligent and ethical. Honesty, integrity, loyalty. These things matter to you, as they do to anyone who possesses the same qualities. They’re not supposed to be an indulgence or favors given to keep a person in line. They’re the very core of who you are, which means you expect, and deserve, the same in return. I believe Detective Fletcher is a man of integrity as well. His loyalty, we saw with our own eyes, had him nearly killing himself as he attempted to save a woman who didn’t want to be saved. To help a woman who, similarly to Markum, lacked redeemable qualities. He’s raising an incredible little girl through trying times, and maintaining his focus on a career he doesn’t get to half-ass.” He drops his chin and smiles. “Yeah. I’m rooting for him. And while I enjoy watching things unfold—like that little coffee date I witnessed the other morning…”

Oh, God. Is there nothing that gets past this man?

“I also know the importance of staying far enough back to avoid the kick of retribution. Ya know, from a little girl who thinks I’ve locked you in a tower you desperately want to escape.”

“Oh, God.” My face burns horrifyingly hot with embarrassment. “That was Mayet’s fault, I swear. She called you a scoundrel, and now Mia can’t let it go.”

He chuckles. “She’s loyal, too. At only five years old, and having already suffered more than is fair, she knows what it is to grab on to the good things and protect them at all costs.” He tips his chin toward my phone. “It would be impossible for her to have such a strong moral compass if not for the parent pointing her that way. Take ten minutes. Go to the kitchen and scrounge up something to eat. I need you for at least another hour, but after that, you’re free to go.”

“Mayor Lawrence!” Anderson waves from across the room. “Join us, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m outta here.” I spin and unlock my phone. “Good luck. Don’t forget to pat his head and give him all the validation his father never did.”

“Smartass.” Justin sneaks a champagne flute from a passing server’s tray and brings it to his smiling lips.

Ten minutes.

My stomach jumps and rumbles, hunger and happy anticipation competing for dominance, so I start toward the kitchen and bring my phone up as I walk.

Charlie:

Did you eat yet? It’s nearly ten o’clock, and I’d bet my bottom dollar you haven’t prioritized putting something in your stomach.

What time are you heading home?

I’m not gonna turn up uninvited or anything. I just don’t wanna fall asleep until I know you’re home safe.

He’s a good man, indeed.

Instead of typing out a reply, I tap his name and bring the device to my ear. The silky fabric of my dress brushes against my legs, turning my flesh hypersensitive, and the swish-swish-swish of the short tail dragging along the floor becomes a melody in the back of my head. But then our call connects, and Charlie’s rumbling, “Sera? You okay?” pushes it all aside. His words, a fiery arrow shot straight into my stomach.

“Hey.” I sidestep a trio of servers exiting the kitchen with empty trays. On the swing of the door, I slip in and find two others, crisp white shirts and tall top hats, scrubbing the grills clean. “I’m okay. I had ten minutes to spare and a grumbling stomach.”

“So you’ve gone hunting for food, and decided to spend your ten minutes with me.” His voice is a gravely rumble, the same intonation I remember from last night while we laid in bed together. It’s sleepiness. Relaxation. Contentment. “I’m honored.”

“Over there.” One of the guys scrubbing a grill straightens his back and points toward a sparkling clean stainless steel counter, and set atop that, a large platter filled with leftovers for the worker bees to pick through. “Help yourself.”

“Thank you.” I cross the massive kitchen and trade my mostly empty glass of soda water for a bite-sized quiche, tossing it into my mouth and groaning at the burst of flavours on my tongue. “Mmm. Delicious.”

“Starving, huh?” Charlie murmurs. “How’s it going?”

“Good. We’re past the worst of it now, and since Justin’s still smiling, I’m still smiling. My job remains secure, which makes me a happy woman.”

He exhales a soft chuckle. “Which makes me a happy man. You’re nearly done?”

“Yeah.” I peruse the platter’s options and select something made of fluffy pastry and… feta cheese, I think. “Another hour.”

“How are you getting home?”

“I’m not.” God. The more I eat, the hungrier I seem to get, so I select another quiche and toss it into my mouth. “The perk of planning an international event means the hotel owners have comped me the penthouse suite, a jet tub, and room service for breakfast.”

“Oh, well…” His voice vibrates with an amused lilt. “This is how the other half live, I guess. Was it worth all the late nights planning it?”

“Totally worth it.” I spy a tray of champagne glasses twelve feet along the counter. I’ve been careful all night not to touch a single drop, since booze and professionalism rarely go hand in hand, but I grab one now and sample the bubbling liquid on my tongue. “Sure feels nice experiencing how the other half live,” I snicker. Hell, I grew up with one foot inside a trailer park my entire childhood, and a mother determined to make me her ticket to freedom. “Have you crawled out of your skin yet with Mia gone?”

He snorts. “Out of my skin. Into it. Out of it again.” He exhales a tired grunt. “I’ve been getting updates from five different sources all night, but most of them went quiet around nine. Now it’s just Cato, and the last text he sent was a picture of my baby girl curled up in his bed. She’s hugging that red Care Bear and smiling in her sleep.”