Dance With Me (With Me in Seattle #12)(23)

“Do it,” Karen says, her voice full of urgency. “Right now, on behalf of both of us. She’s been harassing me, too.”

“Agreed,” Jeremy says. “This is just nuts. And it’s not just me anymore. My wife doesn’t deserve this.”

“Jeremy, before we go pick her up, I need you to be honest with me. Brutally honest, even with your wife standing right here. Have you ever had sex with Francesca Smith?”

“No.” He looks me dead in the eye, his face hard with rage. “I’ve never touched her. I’ve barely spoken to her, and just at work. I love my wife.”

“Okay, then.” I nod and ask Jeremy to take screenshots of all of the texts and send them to me. “We’ll go get her.”

“Thank you,” Karen says. “Thank you so much.”



“Well, that was a clusterfuck.” Anderson presses a wet rag to his neck where Francesca bit him, making him bleed.

“One of the worst arrests I’ve been involved in, and I’ve seen plenty.” I collapse behind my desk and sigh. “You need to go have that cleaned out properly and file a report.”

“I’m most pissed about the extra paperwork this is going to generate,” he says, shaking his head. I can’t help but agree.

“I’m with you there. Go get stitched up and take the rest of the day off. In fact, I’m going to wrap up a few things and head out myself.”

“Whoa. Detective Crawford of the SPD is taking time off?”

I flip him off, but he grins.

“You’re a legend for working more hours than anyone else. What gives?”

I have a sexy redhead on my hands that I can’t wait to see again.

But I don’t say that. I’d rather not be the laughing stock of the department.

“Seeing your blood has me lightheaded,” I lie, earning an eye roll.

“We’ve seen more blood than this.”

“Are you going to go get stitched up before you pass out on my floor?”

“Yes, sir.” He starts to walk away but stops himself and looks back at me. “Thank you. For teaching me.”

“You’ve earned it. See you tomorrow. No calling in sick.”

“No, sir.”

I sigh and sit back in my chair. He’s right, leaving early isn’t my style. Before Starla, I’d hole up here for days on end, working through case after case.

But now that I have her, I can’t get out of here fast enough.

She asked Luke and Nat the other night when a person starts to realize that it’s time to slow down. When the priorities change.

I already feel that, and I’d be a fucking liar if I said it didn’t scare me. Police work is all I know. It’s been my first love for all of my adult life. That changing is terrifying to me.

But losing her is just as scary.

I pick up my phone and shoot her a text.

Leaving work early. Dinner?

I smile when her message comes through.

Chinese. I’m ordering. What do you want?

Her. I want her. But for tonight, I’ll settle for Chinese.

Chicken chow mein. Extra eggrolls, unless you want to share yours.

I lock my office and walk through the bullpen to the parking garage.

Extra eggrolls it is.





Starla

I’m getting damn sick and tired of waking up in a cold, empty bed.

Every night for the past week, Levi comes to my place. We have dinner, or we go out to eat. We walk along the waterfront. We make out a little—not nearly enough, if you ask me—and then he leaves.

I go to bed alone. I wake up alone.

It’s freaking ridiculous.

I pad into the kitchen wearing a tank and yoga shorts, rubbing sleep from my eyes. My piano was delivered a few days ago, and I plan to sit at it all morning before I go to the studio with Jax and Meredith.

I’ve fallen into a routine here, which is new and foreign to me, but it’s also soothing. I write in the morning, spend some time at the studio, and then I’m home in time to spend the evening with Levi. Over the weekend, I spent most of each day with Levi, exploring more of Seattle. He’s become a constant in my life, in a very short period of time.

I don’t know what I would do if he were suddenly gone.

And that thought scares me. Because just as I learned before, a person can be gone in the blink of an eye.

I frown, carrying my bottle of water to the piano. I set it on the floor, not wanting to chance leaving a water ring on the gleaming wood of the instrument, and noodle the keys, playing songs I’ve already written. Some have been recorded, some haven’t yet.

When I’m warmed up, I reach for my notebook of music paper and a pencil and dig in, running lines over and over.

I know you want me to let you in

But hearts are messy

I frown. That doesn’t sound good.

I know you want me to let you in

But this door on my heart is locked

Better. I write it down and then play the melody again. It’s soft, a gentle ballad that will likely be played at weddings someday.

Before I know it, several hours have passed, and I think I have the song mostly worked out. The doorbell rings, pulling me out of my haze of creativity. I pad to the door and open it, surprised to see Joy and Lia smiling at me.