“siccing” but happy to join in this fun game that involved people rolling on the floor. He nosed first Sawyer and then Hall, who turned his head aside with a gagging noise.
“Woof,” Hoover barked, bowing over his outstretched forelegs, his rump in the air with his tail whipping back and forth. Skirting the tail, which had already knocked a soda can from a nearby table, I flung myself onto Hall and grabbed for one of his legs as he tried to simultaneously climb his way up Sawyer’s legs and pound at him. Kicking at the heavier man, Sawyer struggled to claw his way out the door to safety. Hall had maneuvered his way up Sawyer’s torso and had one hand around his neck when Taryn joined me and latched on to her father’s other leg. Together, we leaned backward, bracing our thighs and hauling on Hall’s legs. My shoulder muscles burned as he twisted and kicked. My hands slipped and I was reduced to clutching at the hem of his jeans, unable to get a good grip.
“Daddy!” Taryn cried, tears in her voice and her eyes. “Stop it!”
Just as my grip gave way, Hoover bounded over again, planting one saucer-sized paw onto Hall’s back, making the man grunt and look over his shoulder, which allowed Sawyer to wiggle forward another couple of inches. Mildred appeared in her ruffly pink dress, a supersized Milk-Bone in her hand, and commanded, “Sit, Hoover.”
Hoover sat, planting his rear end firmly on Hall’s back, and disposed of his treat with two crunching bites. Five men hurried up-finally!-and two of them grabbed Hall’s arms while another two secured his legs. The fifth took his cue from Hoover and sat on Hall’s back. Immobilized, Hall hurled names and threats at Sawyer, who had struggled to his feet and limped over to where Taryn sobbed into her hands. He glared at Hall, his face rigid and white.
“Don’t you talk about how much you love Taryn when you treat her like this.” Sawyer hugged Taryn to his side with one arm. “I love Taryn and I’m going to take care of her and our baby whether you like it or not.”
Despite the strain on his face, his ripped clothes, and the way his voice cracked on the word “baby,” Sawyer had a certain dignity about him. I caught a glimpse of the man he was going to be and I thought Taryn could do far worse. Apparently, her father didn’t agree.
“You’re not good enough for my daughter, you lying sack of crap,” Hall growled, his words muffled from having his face mashed into the ground by one of his captors. “Don’t tell me I don’t love her-I’d do anything for her.”
“Like kill Rafe Acosta because you thought he was the baby’s father? Like try to kill me? Like tell her she can’t dance anymore? Yeah, you’d do anything for her except respect her choices.”
From the sudden silence in the room, I suspected everyone had tuned in after Sawyer accused Hall of killing Rafe.
“He wouldn’t-” Taryn began, eyeing her father with heartbreaking doubt.
Hall saw it and let out a groan, going still beneath his captors. I felt some sympathy for him, but it was all mixed up with my disgust at his ugly prejudices and my fear of the way his anger and frustrations immediately fizzed into assault and battery.
“He would,” Sawyer said implacably. The bruise on his cheek and the livid marks on his neck bore him out.
Uniformed police officers burst through the ballroom doors then, and one of them drew his gun at the sight of the huge dog now standing over Hall, snuffling at his pockets.
“Shoot him,” Hall urged. “He attacked me! He’s dangerous.”
“Don’t you shoot my baby,” Mildred warned, imposing her plump form between the officers and the hapless Great Dane. I was closer to the dog, so I grabbed his collar and pulled him toward me. “He’s a hero,” I told the confused-looking officers.
“He saved the boy,” someone in the crowd called out, and a smattering of applause turned into a torrent. “Hooray for Hoover!” another voice called. Someone poured champagne into a shallow bowl and set it down where Hoover could reach it. He lapped at it thirstily, looking like he enjoyed it, and I hoped Mildred’s budget ran to magnums of Dom Perignon if Hoover turned up his nose at tap water in the future.
The police, apparently convinced Hoover wasn’t a threat, cuffed Hall, and led Taryn and Sawyer away to interview. Onlookers faded away, unwilling to get caught up in answering police questions. I told a polite officer only what I’d seen and heard, keeping my thoughts to myself. Was it possible that Hall had killed Rafe and then shown up the next day, ranting and raving, in an effort to divert suspicion from himself? I didn’t know if he was that wily; he seemed like a man who operated under the emotion of the moment, not planning things out in advance. I just couldn’t see him sneaking into my bedroom to steal my gun, even assuming that Taryn happened to have mentioned that I had one. It didn’t strike me as being standard teen-father dinner-table chitchat. I imagined the conversation:
Tired and bedraggled, I took the elevator up to my room, wanting a brief respite before the evening’s competition, which was postponed until seven thirty because of the “unscheduled incident,” as the announcer called it. Slumped against the back wall of the elevator, I noticed three broken fingernails, probably from trying to cling to Hall’s jeans. Damn. I wouldn’t have time to fix them before the evening’s competition began… I’d have to rely on a little transparent tape. Most people didn’t realize it, but ballroom dance judges had eagle eyes and would spot the smallest out-of-place detail, such as a broken nail or poorly applied lipstick.
The elevator doors
Chapter 14
The dark-haired woman’s chin jerked up at the sound of her name and she hesitated, on the brink of flight. Then her haunted eyes fixed on my face and she asked, “Is it true?”
The elevator doors started to close and I stopped them with my arm thrust through the opening. I hopped out before they could close again and confronted the shorter woman. “Is what true?”
“Rafe. Is he-?”
“Dead.” I nodded, feeling a pang when her face crumpled. Where had she been for the last five days that the news hadn’t reached her? On a Crusoe-esque island? In a cave?
“Oh, God,” she breathed. “I didn’t know. It wasn’t until I arrived here today and heard people talking… What happened?”
She looked small and vulnerable huddled in her denim jacket, her shoulders braced against the pain, ringless fingers twisting around the strap of her purse. Her voice was lightly accented, exotic, and sexy, and I understood completely why Rafe had fallen for her.
A family of five trooped toward us and pushed the down button, the tween-age girl staring at my dress curiously. “Let’s go to my room,” I suggested.
Victoria Bazan nodded. “Yes. I came up here looking for you.”
She followed me down the hall and stood silently as I inserted the key card into the lock and pushed open my door. “Excuse the mess,” I said, ushering her into the room with its two double beds, one of which was buried under costume jewelry, hair accessories, and backup costumes spread carefully on the coverlet. The bathroom counter held a litter of lipsticks, eyeliners, glue-on beauty patches and rhinestones, foundation, blush, false eyelashes, black mascara, and enough hair spray to tame the locks of a roomful of beauty contestants. People don’t realize how logistically difficult professional ballroom dance is and how much stuff pros-women, mainly-have to cart around.
My dress for tonight’s professional competition hung on a padded hanger in the closet, swathed in plastic. I motioned Victoria to the only chair in the room not covered with clothes and pulled the dress from the closet. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said, “but I’ve got to change while we talk. I’m dancing again in twenty-five minutes.” I ducked into the bathroom and left the door ajar.
