Killing Kelly

by Heather Graham

“An eyewitness ID for being at the scene,” Jake murmured.

  “You have legal grounds to arrest him?” Doug asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s flank him, then,” Quinn said.

  “I’ll go left,” Jake said.

  “Right,” Quinn agreed.

  “I’ll do the head-on,” Doug said.

  “You’re not in on this kind of stuff anymore,” Jake reminded him.

  “Quinn’s no cop. He’s a P.I.,” Doug said flatly.

  “Yeah, a P.I. who was once—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you want this guy, Jake? Then I’ll take the head-on. You never heard of a citizen’s arrest?”

  “I’m willing to bet that he’s armed,” Jake warned.

  “And I’m willing to bet that both of you are, too,” Doug said.

  His brother shrugged. “Let’s go.”

  They left their table, Quinn and Jake fanning out to flank either side of their objective, Doug heading straight to the docks. There was a young, pretty blonde headed for one of the boats, and Lane was apparently following her.

  “Hey, Lane!” Doug called out, determined to stop the guy before the blonde wound up caught in their pincher movement as well.

  Lane stopped and looked at him.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  He was somewhere between thirty and forty, wearing designer leisure clothes. An oxymoron if Doug had ever heard one. His shorts were ragged, and his shirt, with palm-tree images, looked as if it had been bought at one of the pricey shops in Bar Harbor. His dark hair was slicked back, and he was tanned to a deep brown.

  Doug didn’t reply but kept coming forward, smiling as if he were anxious for a friendly meeting. Perhaps a business meeting.

  “What do you want?” Lane called to him.

  He still didn’t reply.

  “Look, buddy, who the hell are you?” He made a slight movement with his hand, as if he had a small sidearm tucked into the waistband of his cutoffs.

  Doug didn’t have to reply. Quinn was coming around by then.

  “He’s my brother.”

  Lane snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he saw Quinn. “O’Casey,” Lane breathed. “Well, what the fuck. You ain’t got nothing on me, you asshole. You’re not a cop, so why don’t you clear away from me. And get your brother out of here, unless you want him hurt. Or, what is he? CIA, FBI?”

  “Naw, he’s a dance teacher,” Quinn said.

  “But I’m a cop,” Jake said, coming in from the other side. “And you’re coming down to the station with me. You’re under arrest—”

  Lane flung around in a sudden movement, the small revolver drawn and aimed.

  “Don’t want to shoot a cop, now, do I?” Lane asked softly.

  Doug weighed his distance from Lane, then was spurred into action. Lane was forced to turn, but he couldn’t get the gun around fast enough or even squeeze off a round. Doug butted him dead center in the midriff and the two of them went flying off the dock, weightless for a minute, then into the drink together.

  He might have been a big man with a gun, but he didn’t put much into physical fitness. A straightforward jab in the jaw rendered the man senseless. Doug caught him around the neck in a life-saving hold, kicked hard and brought them both to the surface. Jake caught hold of Lane, dragging him out. Quinn offered his brother a hand.

  “That was asinine,” he said softly.

  “It worked,” Doug said.

  “I get you hurt—or killed—and Mom will flay me alive.”

  “Hey, I passed that twenty-one mark some years ago, you know,” Doug told him. “He could have shot Jake. In my position, you would have done the same thing.”

  Quinn couldn’t argue that. They both stood on the dock, Doug dripping, as Jake bent over Lane and showed a small, gathering crowd of onlookers his badge. “Clear out. Nothing happening here. This gentleman is just taking a little trip down to headquarters, that’s all, folks.”

  Lane had opened his eyes and was blinking. He met Doug’s eyes, his own narrowed and venomous. “Dance teacher, my ass!” he hissed.

  “I am a dance teacher,” Doug said.

  “Wow, I forgot to tell you that he was a cop before that,” Quinn told Lane. “Sorry, slipped my mind. Top of his class in the academy.”

  “Get up,” Jake ordered.

  “Police brutality,” Lane muttered. “You’ll be in court for this.”

  “Police brutality from a dance teacher?” Jake queried. Then his features grew taut. He read Lane his rights and the handcuffs came out.

  “Look, I swear to you, it’s going to be fine. Perfectly fine,” Mel said.

  They were at breakfast on South Beach. It was May, a good time to be here, Mel had assured her, since they were still in the season before the area was swept beneath the true dead heat of summer. She had to admit that it was beautiful. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The blue above them was extraordinary. And the people around them were…eclectic.

  The small but prestigious deco hotel Mel had booked them into offered a little breakfast patio right on the street. So far, she’d seen half a dozen skaters go by, some on wheels, some on single blades, a few of the girls a bit strange looking in their bikinis, socks and heavy shoes. Some elderly women in huge flowered hats had passed by, a couple with little teacup dogs they seemed to dote upon. But the really nice thing about the place was that no one seemed to care much about anyone else’s business or appearance. People smiled, waved, bid good morning to total strangers. He-man construction workers waved their hands at young gay men without seeming to have any taints of homophobia. One of the elderly ladies was delighted when a dark-haired Latin beauty a fourth of her age—and nearly naked—paused to ooh and aah over her little Yorkie. Spanish and English mixed in the same sentences along with a little Portuguese, compliments of a growing Brazilian population, according to Mel.

  Actually, Kelly decided, she didn’t mind being here at all. If she were here just on vacation, she would really be enjoying herself. But there was that whole thing about being put on hold for four months to make her tense and worried. And then there was the video…

  Mel’s hand came gently over hers. “Kelly, it will be fine.”

  She sighed softly, feeling a sudden surge of both amusement and affection. “Hey, did I ever tell you that you’re really a top-notch agent? Lots of guys would have made a phone call—worried that they were representing a sinking ship—and told me, hey, there’s a job, take it or leave it.”

  “I’ve made some money off of you in the past years, you know, young lady,” he reminded her.

  But Mel really was something special, she thought.

  “Okay, so it’s going to be fine. Where do we go from here?”

  “You sign the contract.” He leaned forward. “We can head back to L.A. for you to get a few things together, and then we head back here.”

  She looked around, enjoying the scene. Then she sighed. It was time for her “denial” phase regarding the fact that she could be fired to be over. “All right,” she said.

  “While all this is happening, we’ll be looking ahead. You’ll be all right financially, Kelly. Honestly, I’d never have you make this move just for the money. I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Well, frankly, I didn’t believe it myself when they made the decision to keep you off the show. I can only believe that the people in charge actually must care for you a great deal.”

  She stared at him, adjusting her sunglasses to look him fully in the eyes. “Either they’re worried about my life, or I never should have dated Matt Avery from Household Heaven.”

  “Well, that, too,” Mel said uncomfortably. He cleared his throat. “He is the CEO, a huge wheeler-dealer—despite the fact that he’s really nothing more than a snot-nosed, obnoxious, immature brat.”

  “Well disguised,” Kelly agreed with a murmur. She’d come to that conclusion herself, after their first date. Wh
en she’d first met him at a party, he’d seemed too good to be real. Tall, fit, with beautiful gray eyes and dark hair. He’d been polite, courteous and charming. Then their first date had been in his penthouse and it quickly became obvious that he wasn’t interested in getting to know her. He’d brought her there, bought the right champagne and brought in a high-priced celebrity chef. That, apparently, meant that she was supposed to sleep with him on the dinner table when the meal was done. He’d gotten as nasty as a two-year-old with a toy taken away when it hadn’t worked out. If she hadn’t taken a lot of yoga and some basic judo, it might have turned into date rape. He’d gained her sympathy at first by telling her about his ex-wife and how she’d managed to take him to the cleaners. By the end of the evening, she’d been certain that no matter what the ex had gotten, it hadn’t been enough.

  Thinking that it might have been Matt to make the final call on her being basically sent to the cellar actually made her feel better. Well, it made her angry, and that was better than feeling lost and hurt.

  “Where’s the contract?” she asked him.

  “In my room.”

  “I take it you’ve had it awhile.”

  He arched his bushy salt-and-pepper brows, then nodded. “Yes. And I honestly believe this is a good thing. But if you had been dead set against it, I’d have certainly bowed to your decision. Naturally I’ve had the contract for several days now. I read it the minute it was offered. I tinkered with it, making some additional demands. Every one was met. You read it. You don’t think I’d ever have you sign a contract without making a few adjustments, do you?”

  She smiled. “No.” She took the last sip of her coffee. “Well, let’s go up and I’ll sign the damned thing. Then what?”

  “We’ll make a stop by the ballroom in one of the big old hotels to the north.”

  “Is that where we’re going to be filming?”

  “No, that’s where they’re having the dance auditions.”

  She groaned. “I told you last night, I can’t dance—”

  “You’re not auditioning, Kelly,” he said with a patient sigh. “They’re finishing up choosing the backup dancers. Filming takes place on Dead Man’s Key.”

  Kelly groaned. “Tell me that you’re joking now?”

  He grinned. “No.”

  She stared at him, shaking her head. “This is really too much. I’m doing a video for a song titled ‘Tango to Terror’ by a group called Kill Me Quick and we’re doing it on Dead Man’s Key?”

  He listened, nodding. “Well, yes, that’s the gist of it.”

  “Great. Just great. Let me sign the contract before I start thinking the whole project is jinxed or something!”

  “Tomorrow we’ll head home so that you can gather up what you’ll want for a longer stay. You’re going to love being in the Keys, and the work will be easy.”

  “Really? I’m just going to come back and learn how to dance in one day?”

  “Oh, no. We’ve got the dance coach coming out to L.A. You can work with him there, and by the time you come back, you’ll be moving as if you’ve done it all your life!”

  She arched a brow. That was certainly doubtful!

  CHAPTER 5

  They were down to the last ten dancers and the competition was stiff. Only four would be hired—two men and two women.

  Seeing the talent involved, Doug was somewhat amazed himself that he’d been hired for the project. Not that he was knocking his own ability, but the world was filled with talent. After the words he’d heard from Ally Bassett, and now that he knew more about the situation from his brother and Jake, he understood why he was here. Frankly, he might well be a sacrificial goat. If there were any real danger to Kelly Trent, he’d be around her to absorb it. And he did have what was considered the proper aesthetic for a dance with Kelly—a good frame. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and if he hadn’t already been in fairly decent shape, his stint in the police academy would have put him there. The sergeant in charge of his class had become a cop fresh from the army, and he had been merciless.

  Size mattered—though he’d seen plenty of powerful smaller guys—when doing the lifts that were such a part of professional dance, and especially, so it seemed, in this video.

  The remaining hopefuls on the floor followed each command of the dance director with such precision it was staggering. Their bodies were taut, toned and perfect. They had muscles most people were unaware even existed. Doug was glad that he wasn’t making the final decisions. They were fluid, incredible, unbelievable.

  Still, he found his mind wandering back to the morning. He missed being a cop. It had been an itch ever since he’d left the force. Though Quinn had given him a hard time that morning, his brother had suggested that he get his private investigator’s license and do some work for him on occasion. And he had done so. He was still trying to figure out if it would be possible to live in both worlds. There was, after all, a tremendous sense of satisfaction in nabbing a guy like Lane.

  Then again, there was the tango and a soap diva who looked as if she’d rather eat glass than be involved in the undertaking. Well, he’d agreed to the project and he intended to see it through. And now, admittedly, he was more intrigued than ever.

  “She’s here,” Jane Ulrich, his one-time instructor and frequent partner, said, poking Doug in the ribs. “Wow. She’s prettier in person. And that is some head of hair. But then—and I suppose you don’t know this—the red hair was part of the family thing on the soap.”

  “Frankly, no, I never watched the soap,” Doug answered softly, his gaze directed toward the ballroom doors. Indeed, she had arrived. And everything had stopped. The music was still playing, but not a dancer was moving. And Herb Essen, the dance coordinator for the project, hadn’t even noticed because he was staring at the doorway as well.

  “Kelly! Kelly Trent!” someone called out.

  “Marla! It’s Marla Valentine!” someone else said.

  To her credit, Doug thought a bit begrudgingly, the woman flushed and looked a little taken aback by the attention. She was escorted by her agent, Mel Alton, who seemed to be a decent enough sort. More like an older scholar than a Hollywood mover and shaker. For a moment, Kelly Trent looked as if she wanted to run behind him and escape the entire scene.

  But she gave everyone a wave and offered Herb an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

  “That’s fine,” Herb called back, obviously smitten. He left his position by the CD player, hurrying toward the entry. That seemed to give everyone the freedom to leave the dance floor. Heading toward the woman, Herb, usually somewhat fierce and completely dignified, now looked like a puppy dog eager for attention. Herb was gay—and still idolizing the woman.

  Doug wasn’t sure why, but he found the scenario irritating. These people were vying for important jobs, and they were flocking to Kelly Trent, either just to touch her, bask in her celebrity or ask for autographs.

  “Did you meet her yet?” Jane asked.

  “Last night.”

  “That’s right. You were invited to the party.”

  “I asked you if you wanted to go with me,” he reminded her.

  “I couldn’t!” she reminded him. Jane had recently started dating a local hockey player who’d had a charity event the night before.

  “Lots of people like sports stars better than TV actors,” he reminded her. “And your Mike Murphy is one hell of a hockey player. I’d have been at your event if I could have been.”

  She flashed him a narrow-eyed grimace, flipping back a length of her dark hair. “Mike is all right,” she said softly. “Of course I was happy to be there.”

  “There you go. And you’re right. Mike is more than all right.”

  She arched a brow. “Are you happy to be passing me off? Afraid I might have been getting too into you?”

  He grinned, shaking his head. He liked Jane. Really liked her. They were very good friends. But he’d had a brush with a dancer once and she’d wo
und up dead. Having gone into the competition ring, he’d made a personal decision that his love interests in the future would not come from the same arena.

  “Jane—”

  She kissed his cheek. “Sorry. I like being best friends. I’m getting really into Mike, and I was very proud to be there for him last night, but…Kelly Trent plays on my soap,” Jane reminded him.

  He had to laugh. Jane looked so indignant. Like thousands of people—perhaps tens or hundreds of thousands—she taped daytime television to watch later.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me!” Jane told him.

  “Sorry, wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Well, are you going to introduce me?” Jane demanded.

  “She looks a little busy now, don’t you think? Why don’t we let the crowd die down, then we’ll zero in?”

  “You’re still laughing at me!” Jane protested.

  “I’m not,” Doug assured her.

  “I don’t know why they insisted on a male coach for her. I could have taught her the tango.”

  Doug hesitated. “I’m dancing with her in the video,” he said. “Of course, you could have danced with her, but I think that would have changed the tone of the video.”

  Jane stared at him, her eyes huge. “You’re dancing with her—actually dancing with her—in the video?”

  “Yeah. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. There’s some big money behind this.”

  “Why didn’t I get that kind of an offer?” Jane muttered.

  “You did. You’re coaching the group chosen today,” he reminded her. “You’re the total authority.”

  “Beneath Herb Essen. And I’m not actually in it!” she said.

  He arched a brow, smiling. “Like I said, it would change the dynamics of the piece if you were dancing with her.”

  She sighed. “I’d still like to be in the video.”

  “Tell someone,” he suggested.

  She shook her head. “There you go—that’s life for you! You were my student. Now you get to be a star and I get to be a coach!”

  “I’m willing to bet that if you want to be in it yourself, all you have to do is say so,” Doug suggested.