Page 100 of Dancing in the Dark

I stare down at my phone for a minute more to see if Mia might call back, but when the screen remains dark, and the only sound touching my ears is the constant movement of my own lungs, I snatch it up and spin out of my bathroom.

It’s time to go be me. The me I get to be once a month, where no one is watching, and yet, everyone is watching.

38

FLETCH

Club music bounces along the street, the heavy thump reverberating through the concrete beneath my feet and up into my chest.

The last time I came into this club, I was terrified I’d find my ex-wife grinding on some dude, too high to know screwing in public is a crime. Simultaneously, I was hopeful I’d see Sera, because that one time I did, way back before I realized how complicated everything would become between us, watching her dance in a literal fucking cage changed the very fabric of my soul.

This club represents so much to me. Dread. Daring. Devastation. This is where a woman dropped dead last year, her case becoming a citywide panic and a serial killer that Arch and I had to deal with. It’s one of many places Jada would come to blow off steam back in the day, depending on how her bank account looked and how pissed off at the world she was.

And it’s where Sera came to be alone that one time.

Alone, but surrounded by a few hundred other bodies.

Fuckkkk.

“I only need you to sit at the bar.” A dark, commanding voice pulses through my phone and into my ear. It’s a voice I’ve hated. One I’ve been irritated by. One I would trust my freedom and life to… ironically. “That’s it,” he grunts. “Sit, order a drink, be seen. It’s not illegal.”

“Sounds like intimidation to me.”

“Nah. You’re just a dude enjoying the view. Stop asking questions,” he chuckles. “Call me back tonight if you need to. If not, I’ll find you tomorrow.”

“And my money?” I press the phone closer to my ear to combat the deafening bass spilling through the club doors. “Made the transfer yet?”

“You act like you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t,” I counter. “In fact, I actively dislike you.”

“Rude.”

“That’s me.” I roll my eyes. Rude. “I’m still gonna need that money sent over immediately. Is there anyone in particular I should be noticed by?”

“Nah. Sitting at the bar will do it. Catch you on the flip side, Detective.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye, forcing me back to reality where, six feet in front of me, a three-hundred-pound muscle-clad bouncer extends his hand and studies me with an expression that basically translates to ‘pay me not to crush your skull.’

Shaking my head, I slip my phone into my back pocket and take out my wallet instead. Opening it up and scowling at the cash—as in, not much—I snag a twenty and slap it into his palm. Moving past him, I leave behind the regular darkness of Copeland City streets and emerge into a massive multi-story club filled with gyrating bodies, dancing couples, cages standing tall every twelve feet, and inside each one—I make damn sure to look—singles and doubles slide through hypnotic dance moves reminiscent of those Seraphina seduced me with.

Last year.

Last night.

Every night.

I swallow the nerves pulsing in my throat and study every face inside the cages. Every body. Every set of legs, and the hands that slide over them.

Sera said she was going out with friends tonight, and I… fuck. I’m doing that thing again, where I come in here filled with dread and hope at the same time.

Dread, because I don’t want her to see me working for a guy the law would prosecute a man for. But hope, so much fucking hope, that I might find her here, anyway. Just so I could watch. So I could hold her stare while she slides her fingers over her own body.

“Yo! Get out of the way.” A trio of clubgoers—female, male, female—push past me, the guy looking me up and down with a scowl until his eyes stop on my badge. “Instead of being in everyone’s way in here, why don’t you go out there,” he nods toward the exit, “and actually arrest a criminal? Make the streets safer for those of us trying to enjoy a safe night.”

Herculean levels of willpower. I swear to God.

The old, less mature me would pop off with some stupid shit, entirely incapable of walking away from an asshole attempting to assert his dominance. But this is the new me. I have a kid to feed and a relationship I don’t want to explode. Losing my job because I got into a brawl with a three-quarters naked dude and his two sidekicks isn’t how my life is gonna go, so I turn on my heels and make my way toward the bar.