Dance With Me (With Me in Seattle 12)

“I didn’t—”

“Shut up.” Her eyes are manic now. I have no idea who this person is. “Suddenly, any shot I had at being a singer was swept away, and I had to fucking apply to be your assistant. How is that supposed to make me feel? To be more talented than you, but I have to fetch your fucking tea? I have to clean up after you. I wonder what your fans would think if they found out that you have people do everything for you?”

“They’d probably think that’s pretty normal, actually.”

“You think you’re so funny. God, I hate you. I hate you!”

She’s on her feet now, holding the gun up and aimed at my face. She’s going to kill me, and I don’t know what to do to stop her.

I don’t know if I can stop her.

“You thought you could protect yourself from me? Well, you can’t. Because I’m smarter than you, and I’m better than you, you stupid bitch.”

“So, do you think you’ll just kill me, and then you’ll be the famous singer?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think! It’s none of your fucking business. You’ll be dead, and you won’t care anyway.”

“I don’t want to be dead.”

“Beg me.” She cocks her hip to the side. “Beg me to let you live, and I’ll think about it.”

“You’re sick.”

Her face crumples in rage.

“That’s not begging me. If you don’t fucking beg, I’ll shoot you right now. DO IT!”

“No.” I shake my head slowly, holding her gaze with my own. “I won’t beg for what’s already mine, Rachel. But I can promise to help you.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“Starla!”

I turn at the sound of my name, but then there’s a loud crack, blinding hot pain, and I’m falling.

Suddenly, everything is dark.~Levi~

If people would stop interrupting me, I could get the hell out of here and home to Starla. I don’t like leaving her alone. I know she thinks that a couple of hours isn’t a big deal, and she might be right, but I’d feel better if I were there with her.

“Have a minute?” Jim Parker asks, leaning his head around the doorjamb.

“Not really.” I sigh and look up at him. “What’s up?”

“Update, but not a great one. We’re still not able to find a definitive source for the emails, but I think I found something today. There’s one specific thread that’s come through a couple of times, not enough that we’d catch it if we weren’t looking, but it’s there.”

“Great, keep pulling it.”

“I plan to, just didn’t want you to think I was slacking on the job.”

“You’re here more hours than I am, and there’s only three of you in your department. I know you’re giving me all the hours you can spare. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure. I think we’re getting somewhere. I’m going to stay after for a couple hours and keep working on it. I’ll try to charm my way to the source.”

“Well, that won’t get us anywhere, given you’re the least charming asshole I know.”

I grin when Jim glares at me.

“Kidding. Thanks, man. I’m going to head out. Starla’s home alone.”

“I thought she had a full-time detail.”

“They were needed elsewhere, and we didn’t have anyone else to spare.”

“Get home then. I’ll call if I find anything.”

“Appreciate it.”

I clip my holster to my belt and toss my jacket on before locking my office behind me and walking out to the car.

I’ve written my letter of resignation. I had breakfast with my parents this morning, gave them a heads-up. I know they have concerns, and at my age, I don’t have to ask their permission, but I do value their input. They’ve been married for forty-five years, and they’re smart people.

Despite their concerns, they also support my decision. The Lubbock case assured me that homicide is not for me. And how can I ever stay here in Seattle, working the job, while wondering if Starla is safe, wherever she is?

No, I’ve made my decision, and now I have to talk with Starla about it, get her input before I quit a job that’s been more than good to me for most of my life.

As I turn the corner to Starla’s house. Something feels . . . wrong.

I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Starla’s Jag is in the driveway. No other cars are parked on the street. I glance at Wyatt’s house, but it’s quiet as well.

I park and get out of the car, looking up and down the still street. There’s no noise. Not even any birds, and that’s not normal.

When I approach the front door, I pause, taking in the jimmied lock. The door is cracked. I open it and look inside, but there’s no one in the living area.

The alarm is not set.

I step back outside and call for backup on my phone, speaking quietly.

“This is Detective Crawford. I need backup ASAP.” I give the address, put my phone away, and draw my weapon before walking in again, stopping in the living room to listen.