Dance With Me (With Me in Seattle 12)

My hands fist on the countertop, the movement catching her eye.

“Are you okay?”

“No. Keep going.”

She pauses. “I had it all planned out. I had a bottle full of a mish-mash of pills that I’d been prescribed for anxiety and insomnia. A bunch of stuff. And I was just going to take them all at once and go to sleep.”

My gut churns. My eyes burn. The thought of Starla hurting herself, of never knowing her is a searing slash to my very soul.

“What stopped you?”

“Meredith called me that afternoon and said she was on her way to spend a few days with me. That Mark had things handled at home, and she wanted to be with me. It gave me something to be happy about. Something to look forward to. And I knew that if I followed through with my plan, she and Jax would be devastated, and I didn’t want to put them through that.

“So, I took the bottle into the bathroom and flushed all of the pills. Since then, I still don’t sleep well, but I refuse to take meds for it. I never fill the prescriptions. It’s not because I want to hurt myself, but because I don’t want them. I have been doing fine.”

I shift my head to the side as if what she said didn’t make sense at all.

Because it doesn’t.

“Everything you just said does not sound fine.”

“I know, but I really am. After the first six months or so, I fell into a rhythm. Record, promote, tour. Over and over again. Constant work. Come to Seattle to see Jax and Mer and the kids, then back to it. I worked hard, and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in the past five years. My career has skyrocketed, thanks to that hard work.”

“And you’re dizzy and passing out.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I went to the doctor and took his advice to rest. I hated the idea of it, trust me, but here I am. And it worked out because I reconnected with you, and I get to see Mer and Jax whenever I want. I’m writing songs, and I’m dancing, but I’m not fixated on the work anymore.

“And, yes, I feel guilty that I enjoy you so much. That not just the sex but everything feels amazingly easy with you. Rick would not want that. But, damn it, I’m here, and I’m not going to just exist anymore. I’m going to live my life.”

“Good girl,” I whisper, watching her from the other side of the island. I want to hurry to her and sweep her into my arms, kiss her silly.

“You can run away if you want to. I wouldn’t blame you. I’m a mess.”

I stand, but I don’t run away. I walk around to her and pull her against me, smiling against her hair when she clings to me in relief.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay. Good.” She kisses my bare chest. “You should have put a shirt on because telling you that story when you’re half-naked was really distracting.”

“You did great.”My phone rings beside the bed in the early morning light, and I answer before the first ring is finished.

“Crawford,” I whisper as I pad to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

“Hey, it’s Matt Montgomery. Sorry to call so early, but I’m at the Lubbock residence. Jeremy and Karen. You were here a couple of days ago?”

“Yeah, he’s being stalked by Francesca Smith.”

“You might want to get over here,” Matt says grimly. “Now.”

“On my way.”

I don’t question him further. I end the call and splash cold water on my face and over my hair. I quickly brush my teeth, push my fingers through my hair, and walk into the bedroom to pull on some clothes.

“What is it?” Starla asks from the bed, her voice heavy with sleep. She actually slept the entire night.

“I need to go follow up on a case I had a few days ago. There’s an emergency, it seems. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’m fine,” she insists and rubs her eyes. “Honestly, I am. Go do your job. I’m safe here.”

I prop my hands on my hips and watch her. The threat yesterday was real, and not something to take lightly.

“I’ll assign a uniform to sit on the street in an unmarked car.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Humor me.” I kiss her lips and hurry out. “I’ll call when I can.”

“Bye!”

It’s before six, so the drive through the city to the other side of town doesn’t take long. The Lubbock house has been taped off, and the street is blocked off with cruisers.

“Crawford,” I say immediately to the uniform at the door.

“Yes, sir. Montgomery is inside.” He passes me a pair of sterile booties to go over my shoes.

I nod and step in, then stop in my tracks.

There is blood everywhere. On the walls, the floor, up the stairs to the second floor.