The couples were called to the stage for last-minute instructions. He used the time to check his messages. He’d missed a call from Martin Parsa, the detective assigned to Cassidy’s case. He stepped away from the stage to call back.
“I interviewed Lacy Brubeck,” Parsa told him. “I agree with you that she isn’t behind the bigger attacks. When I left the interrogation room, she was a babbling, blubbering mess.” He sighed in disgust. “She’ll be booked for trespassing if the studio wants to go forward with the arrest. Does Ms. Swain want to pursue charges?”
“No. She doesn’t.”
“Let me know if she changes her mind. Also, I spoke with the department in San Diego and they haven’t been able to locate Barry Nelson. He didn’t show up for work today and no sign of him at his apartment. The last reported sighting was yesterday evening.”
“It’s what, a two-hour drive from here?”
“Two, two and a half, depending on traffic,” Parsa said. “We’ve put out an APB on his license plate. I’ll keep you updated if we get a hit.”
Mason clicked off and checked in with the office. Tyler had dug into Nelson’s finances and the man was struggling to make ends meet, having amassed a large credit card debt with little income. That might be incentive to come after Cassidy if he blamed her for destroying his career.
He disconnected and filled Sawyer in on what he’d found out. After another half hour of instructions, the group broke up and started to leave. Cassidy and Harlow approached, chatting animatedly and laughing like best friends. They both smiled when they reached them.
“We need to shower and change and then it’s off to dinner,” Harlow announced.
“Does anyone have a preference for cuisine?” Cassidy asked.
Harlow glanced at the men. “I’d love some good Mexican.”
Cassidy looked at Sawyer and then him. “I know a place that serves dynamite nachos and margaritas in glasses as big as your head.” She held her palms wide to emphasize the point.
“Sounds perfect,” Harlow enthused.
Mason agreed. “Lead the way.”
#
Though Cassidy had dined with movie stars, athletes, politicians and dignitaries, she’d been intimidated to share a meal with Harlow Duquesne. Her grandmother was the leader of the free world, for goodness sake. But from the moment she and Mason had slid inside the booth at the restaurant decorated in bright, festive colors with stucco walls and iconic motifs, Harlow had put her at ease with her friendly, outgoing demeanor. She was so nice! Cassidy felt like she’d known her forever.
Harlow had been beside herself with glee when she found out about Cassidy’s plans to open a dance academy in Bloomington. Harlow had moved to the city to be with her husband. Cassidy was beyond excited to have a friend in town.
“I want to help,” Harlow announced, clapping her hands in joy.
“I’ll take any assistance I can get.”
They discussed her vision for the building and all three tossed out ingenious ideas. She typed them into her iPhone, enthusiasm building. This was something she’d wanted to do for so long and to have input and advice from Harlow, Sawyer and Mason had her brimming with excitement.
“Harlow is a gifted artist,” Mason told her. “Maybe she could create a showpiece for the entry or something.”
“Really?”
Harlow waved a hand at Mason. “Not gifted,” she scoffed.
“I respectfully disagree,” Sawyer announced. “You’re brilliant, babe.”
“You have to say that, darling. It’s in the wedding vows or something.” She grabbed his chin and brushed a kiss over his lips.
“I don’t have to say it,” Mason pointed out, “but I did.”
Harlow smiled at him and squeezed his hand.
“I would love for you to create something,” Cassidy told her. “I’d pay you.”
They discussed different ideas for paintings and maybe even a mural featuring dancers and before she realized it, two hours had passed.
Mason glanced at his watch. “I hate to break this up, but we need to get that equipment set up.” He signaled the waitress and when she brought the bill, he confiscated it and slid his credit card on the tray. The waitress whisked it away.
“I’m glad to have all that makeup off,” Harlow admitted. “I could practically feel my pores clogging.”
“You have a flawless complexion,” Cassidy enthused. “Your skin is so smooth.”
Harlow smiled. “Thanks. I owe it all to Harmony.”
“Harmony? I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”
“You will,” Harlow predicted. “It’s going to be huge.”
“I’d love to try some.”
“I can hook you up. I know the woman who developed it.”
Chapter 12
Kellan Polizzi gutted out one last pull-up, the muscles in his arms burning like a five-alarm fire. Slowly, slowly his head inched over the bar. It was by sheer will that he managed the feat since his arms were the consistency of lime Jell-O. He’d broken his personal best of ninety-five. He dropped to the ground, his arms dangling uselessly at his sides.
“One hundred. Great job, Polizzi,” Dante Costa praised.
“Thanks. Torquemada,” he added under his breath but Costa heard and chuckled. Kellan liked the man when he first met him. Now he considered him to be an evil torture master. He’d forced, coerced and pushed Kellan’s body past any limits he’d thought existed. He’d been in great shape before, having spent the last eight years as first a cop and then a detective. He’d joined the academy out of college, which he attended on a basketball scholarship. But Dante Costa made him see that he wasn’t in great shape before. Now he was. The former SEAL had fine-tuned Kellan’s body into a lean, mean, fit, fighting machine.
He’d added a solid twenty pounds to his frame, all rock-solid muscle. His body fat percentage was miniscule. He felt better than he had when he played college ball. Reluctantly, he had to give Costa all the credit. He amended that thought in his head. Not so reluctantly. He truly liked the other man. Admired him and all his coworkers, a far cry from being on the police force where personalities clashed and people constantly butted heads.
He'd first crossed paths with COBRA Securities a few months ago when one of their agents, Hillary Billings, now Steele, had been vacationing in a rental home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina where he served on the force. Former pro baseball player and current television star Reed Steele had been on the island to renovate a house next door to the one Hillary and her dog Kota were staying. A killer hadn’t wanted Reed to renovate the house, and several attempts were made on his life.
He liked his job as a detective, but the red tape and office politics took a toll. He loved living on the coast, but he could do without the busy tourist season, which seemed to get longer each year. And the hurricanes. They were becoming more frequent, too. Hillary had told him all about her company and urged him to consider applying. He hadn’t thought seriously about it until Wade Ruggle had been named the new chief, replacing Herm Shelton when he retired. Shelton hadn’t been an easy man to work for, but he was honest and he was fair. The same couldn’t be said about Ruggle. He was cruel and vindictive and unabashedly racist. Kellan had no desire to take orders from him. As soon as he heard the announcement, he’d picked up the card Hillary left for him and called. She’d put him through to her boss Logan Bradley. After chatting for a few minutes, Logan wanted to interview him with his partner, Luke Colton. They sent their plane to pick him up and he spent the entire flight talking to Wyatt Hollister, an agent and pilot. He’d met Wyatt before when he flew supplies to Hillary. The interview went well, and he’d been overjoyed when they offered him a position, contingent on him passing Dante Costa’s tests on physical fitness and shooting accuracy.
He’d passed the shooting test with no problem. He trained hard at the range to hone his skills. He’d even passed Dante’s preliminary physical exam, though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk in the morni
ng. He’d been officially offered the job, but he’d need more training with Dante before they allowed him in the field.
Wyatt had flown him back and he’d headed straight to the station. He walked into the chief’s office and tendered his resignation. Ruggle barely acknowledged him so he’d stormed away and cleaned out his desk. A few of the other officers were disappointed he was leaving, especially Dana Deluca, whom he’d shared a brief but passionate fling. She stopped by his condo as he was packing up later that evening and when her attempts to convince him to stay failed, she sent him away with a proper goodbye that lasted all night long.
His bosses offered him an apartment within the complex and he assumed it’d be similar to the dorm he stayed in his freshman and sophomore years at Maryland. He’d been blown away when he stepped inside. It was better than a luxury hotel room. His unit was a one bedroom, so he didn’t have to get used to a roommate along with his new job.
Now as he stretched his sore muscles, he was proud of what he’d accomplished. He couldn’t wait for his first assignment.
#
Cassidy was positively giddy on the drive to her apartment. Some of it might’ve been attributed to the enormous margaritas she and Harlow imbibed. But mostly, it was the company. Though her brain knew it wasn’t a double-date, it felt like one. She’d had so much fun talking and laughing with her new friends. She glanced over at Mason, his profile strong and sure. She wanted to be more than friends with him. He caught her staring and his lips curved. Her heart actually flipped in her chest. She had such a crush on her bodyguard.
As he pulled into her parking lot, she felt a stab of guilt that she hadn’t invited Colin to dine with them, but she hadn’t seen him since the interview. He’d been in his element, telling jokes and charming the interviewer, Denise, who was a tough nut to crack on the best of days. Colin had been dropping hints about getting a shot on the next season and she didn’t know if that was possible, given his injury. She’d love for Bryan to leave, or maybe Marcus. But it might grate on her to have Colin so close again. In the years they’d been apart, he’d become possessive and clingy. She couldn’t understand why he’d been so upset walking in on her and Mason. Nothing had happened, but he didn’t know that, and he’d acted hurt. She didn’t necessarily buy into Mason’s theory that Colin had romantic feelings for her. She’d never gotten that vibe from him. Their relationship had always been like brother and sister.
Mason angled into one of the visitor spaces, with Sawyer parking his SUV beside them. The men gathered the boxes of supplies that had been delivered to the studio while she and Harlow climbed the steps.
She had her key out, ready to slide it into the lock when Mason instructed her to stop. He slid the heavy box to the ground and then took it from her hand. “I go first, always.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted him and then broke down giggling with Harlow. Her tequila buzz was a happy one. Mason narrowed his eyes amusedly then turned to the door.
She wiped tears and said, “Colin should be back by now.” As soon as Mason opened the door, a nauseating odor wafted from inside. She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Ugh, what is that?” All the chips and salsa she’d consumed threatened to make a reappearance.
Mason had drawn his gun and her eyes widened when she realized Sawyer had, too. They were focused and intent, clearly in work mode. What was going on?
“Come inside and lock the door, but you two stay right there,” Sawyer ordered.
Any lingering effects from the margarita fled in an instant. Then she noticed the feet protruding from the end of the sofa.
“Colin must be asleep,” she told Harlow. “How can he stand that smell?”
When Harlow didn’t answer, Cassidy glanced at her. The look on her face made Cassidy’s stomach crash to her feet. “What?”
Sawyer and Mason returned from the bedroom and moved in front of the couch. Mason’s mouth tightened.
“Damn,” Sawyer murmured.
Mason threw up a hand in a stop gesture. “Don’t come any closer.” His harsh command and grim look didn’t stop her. Her legs moved forward of their own volition. Dread filled her at what she would see. Harlow caught up with her and grabbed her arm, offering support as they peered over the back of the couch.
“Oh my God,” she cried.
Harlow gasped. “Marcus!”
Chapter 13
“We need to move away and try not to touch anything. We don’t want to contaminate potential evidence. This is now a crime scene.” Mason waited for Sawyer to gather a weeping Harlow in his arms and lead her away from the gruesome sight of her dancing partner lying dead, his lifeless eyes wide with shock, a knife buried to the hilt in his chest.
Despite his words, Cassidy hadn’t moved. She was staring at Marcus in shock. He rounded the couch and urged her away with an arm over her shoulder. Dazed eyes met his. “Marcus is dead.”
“I know, babe.” He gave her arm a squeeze.
“What’s he doing here? How did he get inside?”
“I don’t have an answer to that.” When he recognized the smell, he assumed it would be Colin lying dead on the couch. He knew it would crush Cassidy to find her former partner deceased in her apartment. Seeing Marcus instead was a shock he wasn’t expecting.
Sawyer had opened the door a crack in deference to the nauseating odor, but stayed inside in the small hallway. Someone could have eyes on the apartment. They didn’t want to go outside and offer a target.
Harlow moved from Sawyer’s embrace to hug Cassidy. Tears cascaded down both of their cheeks. Mason called 9-1-1 and gave the operator the details, asking for Detective Parsa since he was familiar with the case. Next, he dialed Russell Ingram’s number.
“I hope you aren’t calling me with bad news,” Russell said in lieu of a greeting.
“I’m afraid I am, sir.”
Russell hissed. “Please tell me Cassidy’s safe.”
“She is.”
“Thank God.”
“Marcus Howe, however, isn’t.”
“Come again?”
“We just found Howe dead in Cassidy’s apartment. He’s been stabbed.”
“What the hell? What was he doing there?”
“Unknown at the moment. She has no idea why he was here. We went to dinner after rehearsal and just returned. The police are on their way.”
“Poor Marcus.” Russell sighed. “I hate to be crass, but the show must go on. I’ll have to figure something out.”
“I’ll keep you posted.” Mason had just disconnected when Colin hobbled up to the doorway.
“Hey, Cass, what are you doing with the door open…Cassidy?”
“Oh, Colin.” She ran to her partner and hugged him. Mason ignored the bitter stab of jealousy. He wanted to be the one to comfort her. Instead, he was the one cleaning up the mess. He turned to Sawyer. “I’m going to take a few pictures before the authorities arrive and kick me out.”
The cloying stench of death hung heavy in the air. He concentrated on breathing through his mouth as he snapped pictures of the room and the body. There might be clues that Cassidy could use to identify the perp as soon as she recovered from shock.
Sirens wailed in the distance, so he snapped a few more and headed back to the others. Sawyer jerked his head once, indicating for Mason to follow him a few steps from the women and Colin. When they were out of earshot, he asked, “Did you notice there was no sign of a struggle?”
“I did. No defensive wounds. Whoever stabbed him, he wasn’t expecting it. He trusted the person enough to let him or her get close with a knife.”
“Door is clean, no scratches or scrapes to indicate it’d been picked.”
“Dammit, if I’d gotten this place wired up earlier, Howe wouldn’t be dead.”
“This isn’t on you,” Sawyer argued. “Whoever is doing this has some kind of agenda.”
A cadre of officers arrived, led by Detective Parsa.
“This could take all night,” Mason muttered as they steppe
d forward to meet them.
#
“How did you know the deceased?”
“We were castmates on a television show,” Cassidy answered the detective.
“You’re some kind of dancer, right? Sashaying with the Stars, or something.”
“Dancing with the Celebrities,” she corrected.
“Right. Why was Marcus Howe at your apartment?”
Cassidy shook her head slowly, shock and sadness doing battle inside her brain. “I’ve no idea.”
“You didn’t invite him over?”
“She answered that when she said she had no idea,” Mason growled.
The cops had been grilling her for what seemed like hours. She had a rock-solid alibi in Mason, Sawyer and Harlow, but she still felt like they were determined to pin this on her. The detectives had spoken with Mason and Sawyer first, while she and Harlow watched authorities file in and out of her apartment. Several of her neighbors had gathered and crime scene tape was used to hold them at bay. Someone had tipped off the media and television cameras arrived, including Richie Anderson from Dancing with the Celebrities.
She and Harlow had both wept when a stretcher was wheeled out toting a black body bag. Several of the onlookers gasped. Others craned their necks to get a better look, watching with morbid curiosity. The cameras rolled mercilessly.
Many items were removed from her apartment, including the white suede couch that was covered with Marcus’s blood and now wrapped in clear plastic to preserve any evidence. She noticed that the butcher block from her kitchen counter had been bagged and tagged and removed and it hit her—the knife used to kill Marcus came from her very own kitchen.
After Mason finished speaking with Detective Parsa, he moved to her side and refused to leave, much to the frustration of the detective interviewing her. She was thankful for his presence. Even though she and Marcus weren’t friends, he didn’t deserve to die. She was having a hard time holding it together.
The detective spoke again. He’d introduced himself to her and his last name was a color, Brown, Gray, Green, she couldn’t remember. “Has Mr. Howe ever been to your apartment before?”
Last Dance (COBRA Securities Book 14) Page 11
