Long Way Home by Carolyn Gray (22 page)

both silent for a moment as they fixed their coffee. He stirred in his cream, trying to relax. She

didn’t seem upset. “Anything new? Or did you just want to see me?”

She gave him an amused look. “I always like seeing you, Gev. Yes, there is something

new.” At his surprise, she said, “No, we don’t know who did it. Chad’s parents are on the way

here. They’ll arrive tonight.”

He grimaced at that. “I should see them.”

“I’ll let you know where they’re staying. Do you have any reason to believe Lee Nelson

would want to harm you?”

He nearly splurted his coffee out over that. “What? No way. I just saw him for the first

time since I was a kid. Why would you think he’d want to kill me?”

She laid a hand on his arm. “Easy. I wanted to make sure you don’t have any concerns I

should be aware of.”

“No. No way.” He ran his hand over his mouth. “You guys don’t think he did, do you?”

What the hell?

“We found his shoes near the crime scene.”

Shocked disbelief raced through him. “No way. Someone put them there. There is no

fucking way—”

“Easy, Gev!” She leaned closer. “We know. Kilmain’s bodyguard reported them missing

to the hotel where they were staying as soon as it was discovered.”

Long Way Home

99

Relief flooded him. “Does Lee know?”

“Yes. I’ve talked to him. He’s still in town. I convinced him to stay.”

Gev nearly succeeded in schooling his expression. “Oh. Really?” His heart beat wildly. He

felt his cheeks heating, hoped the detective didn’t notice. She picked up her coffee cup and took

a sip, looking at him over the rim, and he knew he was caught. He huffed at her. “Stop that.”

She set her cup down and leaned toward him. “Seriously, is there something between y—”

“No! No, of course not. He’s not—” He wanted to sink into the floor. “No. In fact, we

didn’t part on very good terms.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” He sat back. “Yes, I do.” He met her eyes. “Mom basically told him that

she wished he’d been the one to die.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s unforgivable.”

“What I said.”

“I always suspected she felt like that.”

Gev stood. “Yeah, well, now Lee has no doubt how she feels.” He rubbed one hand over

his chin, catching the time on the wall clock. He’d be late if he didn’t hurry. Then he

remembered. “Do you know when I can get my car?”

She stood. “I’m sure I can get it for you today. Do you have time, or would you prefer a

ride to the theater?”

“I’d like to get my car. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No. I’d like you to come to the station for a minute and look at the videotape.”

He frowned. “Videotape?”

“We have fairly good footage from the hotel of whoever it was who took Lee’s shoes.”

He was surprised at that. “Do you know who it is?”

She looked at him, looked away, then turned back before he could question her reaction.

“No, just someone in a hoodie. Couldn’t see his face.”

“Strange,” he said. Not only the shoes being taken but that look she’d given him. Was it

one of his and Chad’s friends? Another dancer she’d seen? He hadn’t thought of that. But why?

Was someone jealous he knew Lee and had decided to…what, kill Chad? No way. Nothing made

any sense. He rubbed his forehead.

“I know.”

“You have an idea, don’t you?” he asked.

“Maybe, but nothing I can say yet.”

“It isn’t one of my friends, is it?”

“Probably not, but it could be—” She broke off, stilling her expression. “I want you to take

a look at this person in case you see him around.”

Smart idea. “Okay, thanks. What else should I do?”

“You need to concentrate on living your life and having some fun. We’ll worry about all

this mess.”

“Does this mean the original case is back open again?”

She touched his arm. “Sweetheart, I never closed it.”

100

Carolyn Gray

He let out his breath in a whoosh, grabbing her hand and holding tight. “Thank you.”

“I’ll do what I can.” She squeezed his fingers and released him. “I want nothing more than

to solve your brother’s case, and now Chad and Curtis’s.”

“I know. Thank you.” He took a deep breath, feeling halfway decent for the first time since

the nightmare had begun. They left the house together, and he locked the door behind them. Not

that locks did much good. He’d never feel safe in any house again.

Long Way Home

101

Chapter Thirteen

Gev climbed the stairs to the second-floor practice rooms, his bag slung over his shoulder.

He was late but hoped Francesca wouldn’t scold him too badly, all things considered. It’d taken

all his courage to ask the principal dancer to work one-on-one with him. She was near retirement

now, the oldest of the dancers, and had been with the troupe the longest. Her husband was the

lead violinist in the orchestra, and though they’d never had kids of their own, they’d all but

adopted more than one dancer over the years. He hadn’t been one of them; he didn’t make it a

habit to share the tragic part of his past, though everyone knew anyway.

Maybe that was why it’d been hard for him to ask Francesca for help. She’d readily agreed

to it, luckily. Had almost acted as if she’d expected him to ask. He hated to think what she

would’ve thought had he never done so. Loser him.

It had been worth it. Already, after a few short months, he’d come to understand the

nuances of partnering in a way he’d long thought beyond his grasp.

He pushed open the door. Francesca turned to face him, hands on hips.

“You’re late.”

He winced. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She glided toward him as he set his bag down on the scarred wooden floor. Sunshine

poured into the room through the windows, glowing behind her. He stood, back against the wall;

she had such an ethereal presence about her, he could easily cower under a single flashing glare.

But the expression on her face was far the opposite of a glare. She raised her hands up to

cradle his face as she reached him. Only up close could one tell Francesca was nearing forty. He

sagged with relief, and she laughed, the sound light and amused.

“Gev, I’m not going to beat you.”

Then she surprised him by folding him into a hug. He froze, then wrapped his arms around

her, her kindness chasing away the last of his admittedly silly schoolboy worry. He breathed in

her scent—earthy, chalky, soapy ballet dancer. Her hold on him tightened, and he found himself

returning the intensity, squeezing his eyes shut. All the tension in his body melted as she rubbed

his back, and he buried his face in her neck. “Hey,” she said. “You okay? We don’t have to

practice today.”

He took a shuddering breath as he pulled back. He didn’t release her. Now he was afraid

to, afraid she would send him away.

“I need to dance.”

She touched his face. “I’m so sorry about Chad.”

“Me too,” he whispered, his throat tight.

She kissed him on the cheek, slid her hands down his arms and to his hands, and squeezed.

“Let’s get warmed up, then.”

102

Carolyn Gray

She’d understood, of course. Dance was his sanity, his foundation. He needed both right

now while the rest of the world went crazy. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in

movement, music, and the union of the dance with Francesca.

She released him and busied herself with the music selection. He wiped his eyes, sat on the

wooden floor, and pulled on his shoes. Music filled the room—Francesca did love her U2.

He was glad she wasn’t a Dream fan.

For the next few minutes, they stretched side by side. She’d nearly blasted the music, and

he was grateful to give himself up to it. She was starting out differently with him than usual, and

he appreciated that. He forced himself to stop thinking about anything but
now
. He began to

break into a series of pirouettes, letting the music move him faster and faster. Francesca joined

him as the music drove them both into a wild frenzy. He reached for her. With a mad grin, she

grabbed his hands, and they careened into one of the dance numbers they’d been practicing. All

thoughts were driven from his head as he let his body take over and the next song began, a

slower song. He lost himself completely, moves once so difficult and seemingly out of his reach

coming to him easily as he and Francesca moved in tandem to the music.

Peace began to flow through him as he lifted Francesca up, the connection between them

merging them into one. A thrill soared through him as her eyes sparkled in recognition of that

connection. She knew, though he’d never told her, how hard this was for him, that he was not a

natural at partnering; he had to work hard at what came easily to so many.
To Chad
. But whether

it was the tiredness, the sorrow rippling through him, or maybe just his finally understanding the

secrets of being a great partner, whenever Francesca’s hands reached for his, he found them;

when she moved, his body instinctively moved with her. For the first time, he felt that elusive,

yet vital, connection just
happen
. A thrill raced through him. He sensed her trust soar as she

folded herself into his arms, her back to his chest, her head against his shoulder, and they danced

to the music together as they hadn’t ever before.

The music ended; the room fell silent except for the sound of their rapid breaths. He looked

down into her eyes as she turned in his arms. She was smiling at him. “Beautiful,” she said.

“Perfect, in fact.” She touched his nose.

“I should get depressed more often,” he said. “That was amazing.”

She pulled away from him. “No, just remember it, pull from deep inside, and
use it
.” She

pushed her fist against her chest. “From in here. You have it in you.” She touched his face,

smiling sadly. “Chad was an amazing dancer. He was a brilliant partner. But you’re good, very

good. You’ve got something he didn’t have too.”

“What’s that?”

She placed her hand on his chest. “Heart. Let’s get to work now, all right?”

* * * *

Four? As he drove aimlessly through the streets of North Dallas, sipping his coffee, he realized

he was apparently failing to leave once again. It was almost as if some spirit force was keeping

him there, thwarting him at every attempt to go. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. He didn’t want to

think too closely as to why—didn’t want to consider it was anything but guilt that kept him, yet

again, from heading for the airport. Lee reread the address he’d scribbled down. The fact that

he’d already looked up the location of the dance studio was pretty pitiful—and pretty telling, he

supposed.

Long Way Home

103

He
wanted
to see Gev again.

He intended to stop for a minute. He had a three o’clock flight to catch. He’d been an ass

to Gev. He would apologize and promise to look him up whenever he was in town again. Or tell

Gev to do the same whenever he was in Colorado—He jerked his head up. Damn. He’d invited

Gev to come to Jonathan’s wedding. Well, that wasn’t going to happen now.

Should be around here somewhere… He turned down one street, then another. Not really

streets, more like alleyways. Most of the buildings didn’t have signs on them, and of those that

did, half were faded, dingy, old. This was a depressed area of the city—aka, cheap. Finally he

found the right street and turned up it, going to the very end before he saw the right numbers.

He parked the car and got out, looking up at the ballet company’s building. There was a

smattering of cars in the parking lot, his Lexus a stark reminder of the world he came from, a

world different from the dancers’ except for the lucky few who actually made good money. One

of the cars caught his eye—an old Volkswagen Beetle, orange. He’d had a lime green one in

high school. He’d loved that car, bought for him by his grandmother.

Broken bits of asphalt kicked up beneath his feet; smashed cans and even broken glass

littered the uneven ground. The lot needed a new surface, the building itself a paint job. For a

moment, he remembered some of the places he, Brandon, and Nick had first played—old

garages, basements in a friend’s bar, sometimes on back porches, anywhere they could set up

their equipment and work undisturbed for a few hours. It hadn’t mattered to them where they

practiced. All that mattered was the music. He hoped it was the same for the dancers who

worked here.

A kid about sixteen, maybe seventeen, with the unmistakable litheness of a dancer, pushed

open the door and trotted lightly down the stairs.

Lee stopped him. “I’m looking for Gevan Sinclair.”

The boy’s eyes lit up, an
a-ha
look on his face. “He’s in there, one of the rehearsal rooms.

Last one down the hallway.”

“Thanks.”

”No problem. See ya,” he said and went on his way.