Page 128 of Dancing in the Dark

I grab the sheet-wall and yank it aside to watch her leave. “What?”

“We had a fantastic night. Committed a mild break and enter, although we didn’t break anything. Might’ve trespassed, too?” She steps around my counter, stealing my view of her altogether. “Figured I’d get Mia’s future rap sheet all warmed up.” The soft melody of her giggles competes with the grind and hiss of my coffee machine. “We created happy memories last night, Charlie. We came home, made yummy omelets for dinner, watched a movie while we waited for you, and then we made a pillow fort in stealth mode, all without waking you up.” She pops back into view, her eyes alight with glee. “Right before we crawled onto the floor to sleep with you, she asked me to be your girlfriend forever.”

“And…” Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Okay. “W-what did you say?”

“I said I enjoy being your girlfriend and that I intend to keep doing it. But…” She saunters back this way, electric and stunning and way too fucking expensive for me. “Next time, it would mean a lot to me if you sent a text so I don’t worry. Did you solve your case yet? Justin will ask me for an update today, and since I’m currently sleeping with one of the primary investigators, it would be cool if I had something mildly intelligent to tell him.”

You could tell him Anderson Markum is a snot-nosed weasel bitch directly responsible for slowing this pursuit of justice.

“Yeah. You could just…” I scrub my hand over my face. “Uh… Tell him it was ruled natural causes, not homicide.”

Stunned, her entire body jolts in my peripherals. “What?”

“According to Mayet.” I drop my hands and peek down at a still-asleep Mia. “That’s not for the media yet, though. Arch and I aren’t willing to make these details public until we’ve tied up our case.”

And we can’t tie up our case until our subpoenas are honored.

“But…” Confused, a small line marks her forehead while she attempts to understand. “If it was natural causes, what do you need to tie up?”

“She still died, and her body still washed up at the bay.” I drop my gaze to the inch of stomach exposed between the waistband of her pants and the hem of her top. “Maybe you could call a meeting with your ex-boyfriend and tell him to stop being a fuckin’ asshole.”

Shit. There it is.

“He… ah…” That line digs deeper across her brow. “What?”

“You’ll probably hear about it today at work.” I pretend that the prick’s mere existence doesn’t set my gut on fire, then as Mia stirs, her arms and legs tensing and a noisy snort tearing along her throat, I find comfort in her presence creating a buffer between me saying stupid shit… and not. “Don’t worry about it.” I meet Sera’s stare for a single beat. Two. “It’s fine.” Then I look down at my baby and grin as she slowly, unhappily, makes her way toward consciousness. “Hi, Moo.” Like she’s done to me a million times over the years, I wait a mere two inches from her face and flash a smile. “Good morning, pretty girl. Did you pee on me, or are we just super sweaty?”

Panicked, she jams her heels into my chest and shoves up to take a look, then with an exhaled phew, she flops down again and smacks her lips. “Sweat. That means I sleeped the whole night, Daddy. I didn’t even have to wake up to pee.”

49

SERAPHINA

At just three minutes past nine o’clock and with a fresh coffee keeping me company, I stride into Justin’s office, only to come to a screeching stop, surprised by the grouping of familiar faces populating the room. Reese perches delicately by the window, a notebook in hand and a pen at the ready, while Captain Ron Bower, a man I know only from my dealings here at City Hall, not because he’s Charlie’s captain, hovers by the drink cart. He wears a dark blue blazer over a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, Copeland City P.D. insignia on the arms, and stars above those.

He carries a matching hat tucked between his arm and ribs, and though his posture ruins the lines of his dress blues, he digs his hands into his pockets and glares at the floor.

Anderson sits in Justin’s visitor’s chair, nonchalantly settled back with one leg crossed over the other and a smug grin plastered across his face, while between him and the window, General Counsel Blackwell stares pointedly Justin’s way.

“Uh… I-I’m so sorry.” I inch across the threshold and carefully shut the door. “Am I…” I cast desperate eyes across to the clock on the wall. “Am I late? My schedule says we weren’t set to meet until half past.”

“You’re not late.” Justin rests his elbows on his desk and massages his temples with the tips of his fingers. The day has only begun, and already, he has a headache. Which means I’ll have a headache soon. “General Counsel Blackwell and Deputy Legal Counsel Markum stopped by to discuss a matter they considered pressing.” Dropping his hands, he looks across, stone-faced to combat the delighted glint in Anderson’s eyes. “Please continue, Deputy Legal Counsel. Seraphina?” He lifts his chin. “Find a seat. This shouldn’t take long.”

“Y-yes, sir.” I cross the office at a silent trot and take my position right beside Reese, peeking down at the notes she’s already jotted down.

“Thank you, Mayor Lawrence. As I was saying⁠—”

“Before you go on,” Captain Bower remorselessly cuts over Anderson. “I’ve been briefed on the matter, Deputy Legal Counsel. Extensively.”

“Can we drop the stuffy formalities and just speak?” General Counsel Blackwell turns his back on Justin and regards Bower instead. “Your detectives are inept, Ron. They’re unprofessional, have made a mockery of both of our departments, seem to find pleasure in wasting my time and the time of those employed inside the Port Authority office, and as of twenty-five minutes ago, Miranda London has gone to air on three separate occasions, breaking stories with information available only to the people involved in this investigation. Three times!”

“The first two were bad.” Anderson twists in his chair and tries on a face of condemnation. Of dignified disappointment.

He may be able to fool others with the emotions he pretends to feel, but all I see is the elation of a child intentionally squishing a snail under their shoe. Or when they burn a line of ants with a magnifying glass.

“We all look like clowns when details are leaked to the media,” he continues. “But to involve Ms. London?” He shakes his head. “If they wished to have this information go public, surely they could’ve spoken to a more trustworthy journalist. Ms. Hewitt, for example, has a reputation for class and integrity. Or Carrister. He’s always got his finger on the pulse. But Ms. London? A woman who errs toward sensationalism and ratings no matter the cost?” He turns back to face Justin. “I wonder which of the detectives she’s currently enjoying a, uh…” He fakes a cough, “Romantic relationship with?”

“Enough,” Blackwell bites out. “Speculating about personal relationships is a waste of everyone’s time when we have much larger fish to fry. Ron, you have a leak in your department, and from where I’m standing, Ambassador Zhao doesn’t appear to be a fan.”