Shall We Dance?

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  They were talking quietly to each other and then stopped when Jennifer walked in at Dylan’s side.

  “Hi, guys,” she said.

  “Hi,” Shannon said. She got up and hurried over to give Jennifer a hug. “I’m so sorry about that note.”

  She swallowed and gave them all a watery smile. “Me, too.”

  Kimber shifted to face her. “We wanted to be here to support you. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all.” She spoke the truth, too. For so long, she’d been alone. Right after it happened, some of her close friends had been there for her, but it had been hard. They asked questions and got upset when Jennifer kept things from them.

  Eventually, she’d drifted apart from them. They didn’t have a lot in common, since they were all going out and Jennifer could barely leave the house.

  That’s when she’d started leaning on her parents. But soon, even their looks of pity or frustration that she wasn’t okay had created a wedge between them.

  Ever since she’d moved in with Dylan, Jennifer had tried to keep the worst of her days to herself. She had Melissa, of course. But as helpful as Melissa was as a counselor, Jennifer didn’t consider her a friend.

  Now though, she had all three of her roommates. They cared enough to want to be there for her. She shook her head to clear it. “Sorry, my mind drifted. I don’t mind you being here at all. It’s, uh, nice.”

  Dylan sat down in one of the empty chairs in front of the desk and motioned for Jennifer to take the other one. “Let’s get this over with. Jen, Traci used gloves and opened it with a letter opener. The paper is folded, so you can open it in the ziplock bag.”

  “Isn’t this a little bit overkill?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Better to be safe than sorry,” Traci said.

  Jennifer took a calming breath and then pulled the ziplock bag toward her. She’d never wanted to do anything less . . . or more.

  “I’m ready,” she whispered, more to herself than the others. Then, it was just like Traci had said. It was fairly simple to manipulate the paper so it was lying flat inside the plastic.

  All she had to do was read it.

  She decided to read it out loud. “We haven’t forgotten. It’s your fault that our lives were ruined. It’s time to pay.”

  Right as she took a breath, Kimber said, “What is all this about? Are they really that whacked?”

  “One of the men in prison got hurt last night,” Traci said.

  Dylan looked at her sharply. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were off duty.”

  “Still.”

  “I would’ve called you tonight. Or the sergeant said he would. Wasn’t anything much to tell anyway. The guy got in a fight and got his jaw busted up. He’ll survive.”

  Jennifer looked up at her brother. “There’s more. Are you done?”

  “Crap. Yeah. Sorry.”

  She held up the plastic again. “I know where you live. I know you’re putting your roommates in danger. I’ll make sure you pay.”

  With shaking hands, Jennifer put it down. “That’s it.”

  “Well, he gets points for drama,” Kimber said.

  “And being a dimwit,” Traci added. “One of your helpless roommates carries a Glock.”

  She looked up at Dylan. His jaw was twitching, but he didn’t look afraid. “What happens next?”

  Traci smiled. “Well, this is just me, but I’m thinking this is a real threatening letter. We need to pick him up.”

  Dylan’s eyes lit up. “I knew you were going to be perfect. Let’s go to the station.”

  Traci was already up and trotting up the stairs. “Give me five and I’ll be ready.”

  Jennifer was just about to do what she always did and warn Dylan to be careful, when she noticed that Dylan was looking at Shannon with concern.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, sure.”

  He walked to her side. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Honestly, if Traci or I had thought the first note was serious, we would’ve told you and taken precautionary measures.”

  She nodded. “I . . . well, I feel so bad for you, Jennifer. And, I know it’s your job, but I’m worried about you, too, Dylan. And Traci.”

  Right in front of all of them, Dylan wrapped Shannon in his arms and hugged her tight—letting all of them know exactly what he felt about her.

  It was obvious that they were a couple now, and he wasn’t letting her go.

  CHAPTER 35

  “Part of the joy of dancing is conversation.

  Trouble is, some men can’t talk and dance

  at the same time.”

  —Ginger Rogers

  After much debate with herself and having about a hundred conversations with her therapist, her roommates, and her brother, Jennifer had finally gone on her date with Jack.

  It was really too bad that it was likely going to be her last, but how much drama could one guy take? And who would even call lunch in her loft kitchen—with Traci on the premises in case she was needed—a real date?

  The only consolation was that he had eaten every bite of the meal she’d prepared and had even looked a little disappointed that he’d only had room for seconds and not thirds.

  The cook in her was beaming with pride. The feminine, girly part of her, however, was wishing that she’d gone to the casual sports bar he’d suggested and they were sitting around eating burgers and having a beer.

  “Tell me again how you made that soup?”

  “It wasn’t any big deal. Only green chicken chili.”

  “It was amazing. And I’d use even stronger superlatives if you weren’t such a lady. And it was a big deal. You made cornbread and those . . . roll-up things.”

  “Pork empanadas.”

  “Better than any restaurant.”

  “I hope you have room for dessert?”

  Jack grinned. “What did you make?”

  “Mexican chocolate cake.”

  “I don’t know how you don’t weigh two hundred pounds.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he groaned. “Sorry. I know better than to talk about weight with a woman. Especially on a first date.”

  That mention—or maybe it was the way he’d complimented her so nicely—but she said, “So, you don’t mind too much about not going to Champ’s?”

  “No. As in, not even a little bit. I was just trying to think of somewhere you might feel safe.”

  She’d gone ahead and told him the Reader’s Digest version of the latest episode. It hadn’t been easy to do, and she’d been practically stuttering on the phone when she’d done it. But he’d acted like women he dated got threatening notes all the time—or at least like he understood—and readily agreed to dine at her house instead.

  “Jennifer, my mom is a bookseller, not a cook. I grew up with pasta and pizza and grilled hamburgers and about five other meals that were fine, but nothing to get too excited about. I don’t even cook half that well. This was a real treat for me.”

  “Thanks.” She stood up. ‘Would you like dessert now?”

  “How about I help you clean up first?”

  “Well, I need to let the girls know that we’re done.”

  “Because?”

  “Because they’re waiting for leftovers.”

  He laughed. “I would say that they could have joined us . . . but I’m glad they didn’t.”

  “Me, too,” she said, shyly. They’d talked. Really talked. And not about her and her past either. Jack had told her about his job as a building contractor. He’d told her about getting Harvard and the dozen “bad puppy” things he did on a daily basis. He’d laughed when she told him that she thought Harvard’s fascination with Jack’s slippers was cute.

  She’d told him stories about growing up in Bridgeport, back when it wasn’t
much more than a sleepy town.

  He’d grinned when she’d told him that she’d played softball when she was little and was on the golf team in high school.

  It had been easy. Really easy.

  “Why don’t you go tell your roommates they can come up and eat?”

  “But dessert . . .”

  “I can eat here with them.” When she was ready to protest, he looked her in the eye. “I want to get to know them, Jennifer. I need them on my side, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I plan to see you as often as you’ll let me.” He smiled. “That means I might need their help to make it happen.” He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot—my mother wants you to call her about a job.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “She wants you to cater an event she’s been planning. It’s called Murder by the Book.”

  “What is that?”

  “My mom is bringing in three mystery writers. They’re going to chat about their books, sign them, and there’s going to be all kinds of snacks and desserts to go along with it.”

  “Wow. It sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “It is, and the authors sell a lot of books, which means she keeps getting a bigger turnout every year.”

  “When is it?”

  “Two weeks.” He grinned. “And before you ask, yes, she did have the food arranged. But the owner’s mother or something got sick and they had to cancel. She was really in a state until she remembered you.”

  “Wow.” If she did a good job, it would give her business a real head start. But it also meant that she had to be ready for that.

  Was she ready?

  She’d gotten that letter. She’d barely made it into the store just a couple of weeks ago. Maybe it was all too fast?

  But then she remembered that she wasn’t alone anymore. She had her roommates and her brother and, yes, maybe even Jack. Plus, it was his mother hosting the event, and she was lovely.

  “Jennifer, are you okay?”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry. I guess I was already dreaming up mysterious-sounding snacks.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  She made a decision. She was ready. She nodded. “Yep. I’ll do it. It might not be perfect, but I’ll do my best.”

  “If you do it, it will be fine. That’s all you need to know.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Now can we let your roommates upstairs?”

  “Absolutely. Just tell them they can come eat. They’ll come up in a heartbeat. They always do.”

  CHAPTER 36

  “When I dance, people think I’m looking for my keys.”

  —Ray Romano

  It turned out that Lance wasn’t as stupid as they thought. He’d lawyered up practically before they could get his full legal name.

  While the assistant district attorney grumbled to their captain, Dylan and Traci shared their frustrations with each other at Paxton’s after their shift ended.

  A couple of other men and women had joined them for a beer. Now the two of them were lingering and complaining, nursing the same drinks they’d gotten an hour before. “Sometimes I just wish we didn’t always have to be the good guys,” Traci grumbled.

  “Me, too, but what can we do? If we bend the law to suit our needs, we’re no better than guys like Lance.”

  “Oh, I know I’m better than a rapist. But I agree. Back in Cleveland, I saw more than my fair share of creepiness. Someone has to do the right thing. Might as well be us.”

  Dylan glanced at his phone and saw he’d gotten a text from Shannon.

  Are you okay?

  Boy, she was a sweetheart. He quickly typed out a reply.

  Okay. Finishing up with your sister. I’ll call you later.

  When he put his phone down, he said, “Shannon was just checking on me.”

  Traci’s expression softened. “She texted me, too.” Looking up at him, she said, “It’s nice having someone around who cares, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Of course, he’d always had that. His parents were good people. They’d supported his wish to become a cop, even though it hadn’t been what they’d wanted for him. Now he had Jennifer. Even though she wasn’t making him dinner anymore, she still took time to text or call him every couple of days. “You’ve been alone a lot, haven’t you?”

  Her nod was almost imperceptible, but he saw it. “I didn’t grow up like Shannon. I was in foster care and then a group home.”

  He knew enough about those to know that a lot of situations weren’t safe or loving environments. “How bad was it?”

  “Huh? Oh, not too bad.”

  “Really?” He didn’t know why he pressed.

  But instead of looking uncomfortable, she kind of half shrugged. “Ms. Henderson was real strict, but fair. And, she only kept five girls at a time. We had space, too. We only had to share a room with one other girl. Then, when I was the oldest I got a room to myself.”

  “Do you still keep in touch with her?”

  “No.” She inhaled, then murmured, “She ran a tight ship, but it wasn’t like we became buddies or anything.” She ran a fingertip around the rim of the glass. “Some girls got along better than me. I can see them writing to her.”

  “What about the other girls? Do you keep in touch with any of them?”

  “I did for a while . . . but it was hard, you know? I had real good grades in high school, and I always knew I wanted to be a cop. I got a full ride to the community college and to the police academy. So, I had somewhere to go. Everyone else wasn’t that lucky.”

  Dylan knew that the system didn’t offer many choices for an eighteen-year-old. There were too many needy kids to take care of. “I’m glad you girls found each other.”

  She smiled faintly. “You mean Shannon found us. If not for her, I’d still be exhausted in Cleveland.” Pulling a ten out of a pocket, she tossed it on the bar. “And speaking of not being alone, I’m going to head on home.” She winked. “I heard Jennifer was cooking tonight.”

  “Don’t tell me that.”

  “Do you want to come over? I’m sure no one would mind.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not quite ready to see my sister yet.”

  Her expression turned guarded. “If she asks about Lance, what do you want me to say?”

  “I’m not going to tell you what to tell her, Traci. Say what you want.”

  “But—”

  He smiled tiredly. “But if she asks, let her know that I’ll stop by to see her in the morning.”

  “I’ll do that. Have a good night.”

  He watched her leave, realizing that she was walking home. Also that she’d lifted her badge back out over her shirt so it was visible. He wondered why until he saw that she was talking with a group of teenagers on the corner.

  He grinned to himself. And that was definitely what she was doing, too. Just talking with them. Being friendly. A person to know in the community. The sight made his day a little better. She was going to be just fine in Bridgeport.

  “Anything else, Dylan?” the bartender asked.

  He was about to tell her no until he remembered that he had an empty refrigerator at home. “Get me a menu, would you? I need an order to go.”

  * * *

  The next morning, not even a carefully insulated bag of lasagna was making the conversation easier. It turned out that Jennifer had gone out for ice cream with Jack, so she hadn’t talked to Traci at all.

  Which meant he got to share the news that Lance still wasn’t behind bars, was probably cockier than ever, and that he didn’t think she should cater the murder-mystery party at Camille’s bookstore.

  Jennifer had stayed silent while he’d talked, obviously doing her best to take in all the bad news as calmly as she was able. He’d given her that space, knowing that he’d had almost twenty hours to come to terms with what ha
ppened.

  But then, she’d shaken her head. “I’m not going to do that.”

  “You’re not going to cater the event?”

  “No, I mean I’m not going to hide anymore,” Jennifer said, her voice firm. “I’m doing it, Dylan.”

  “But it’s not safe.” He wasn’t exaggerating, either. He could feel in his bones that something was about to happen.

  “It’s also not safe for me to stay home and be afraid.”

  “Jennifer, this is a lot to take in. I think as soon as you think about it, you’ll agree with me.”

  “This is a lot, but I’m not going to change my mind. I need to do this event, Dylan.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “And I don’t want to get hurt. But I also really don’t want to go back to where I was.”

  “Jen . . .”

  “Why don’t we all go?” Shannon said from the doorway.

  She joined them in the loft’s kitchenette. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but well, there aren’t a lot of walls in here. Private conversations are hard to keep private.”

  He stood up. “Hey.”

  “Listen, I know you don’t agree with Jennifer, but how about if Traci and you are there? That’s two cops keeping a close eye out, right?”

  He nodded but immediately had a flash of what could happen—what if Shannon got hurt, too? “I don’t want anything to happen to you. To any of you.”

  “Dylan, I’m going to be in the kitchen. Jack will be there, too. And all of you. That’s enough.” Jennifer’s voice was firm, her expression resolved.

  He knew his sister was right. He knew Shannon’s idea was a good one. Unfortunately, he knew that bad guys were good at screwing up even the best plans.

  “All right,” he said. “You ladies are right.”

  “Thanks, Dylan,” Jennifer said, giving him a hug before leaving the room.

  “I’m proud of you,” Shannon said. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

  “I’m starting to realize that I want to keep everyone I love in a cocoon. I’ll try to not do that.”