Page 9 of Fire Dancer

The police would do their best, but I doubted they would find any evidence that suggested foul play. Even if they did find bear prints, they would conclude a wild animal was involved. And I couldn’t exactly say,It was a shifter. Shifters, actually. I can smell them all over the place.

I kicked the ground, silently agreeing with the officer.Yeah, I hate these cases too.

Chapter Three

PIPPA

It had been a hell of a day at the glass shop — and that was before reports of a death zipped through the grapevine. A young woman, apparently killed in a hiking accident not far north of town.

Terrible,my friend Amy had written, followed by a crying emoji.

Her next message, sent seconds later, was an abrupt change of gears.Want to meet for dancing tonight?

I winced. Tact, anyone?

On the other hand…that would cheer me up, and I’d been promising myself a night out for a week now.

Wrapping up work, I held a solitary vigil for the dead woman, lighting one of the shop’s candles and closing my eyes to think of who she might have been and who she had left behind. Then, with a sad sigh, I blew out the candle and headed for a quick shower in the shared facilities behind Sedona Glass.

Afterward, I drove to Buffalo Bill’s — the place my sisters and I preferred, thanks to its mostly local, low-key crowd. The evening was crisp, cool, and revitalizing after all those hunched, sweaty hours in the hot shop.

The death was a hot topic in the bar, but life went on, especially since the woman was an out-of-towner nobody knew.Plus, Wednesday was Oldies Night — though half the regulars objected to the label — making it impossible to be morose.

I danced my way inside to the tune of Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me with Your Best Shot.” In no time, I’d downed half a non-alcoholic beer — I would be driving home later — and was rocking my moves on what passed for a dance floor. At Buffalo Bill’s, it didn’t matter whether you danced alone, with someone else, or everyone. I was perfectly happy withalone, but that rarely worked out, because the guys inevitably found their way over to me.

The first of the night was Hank, a sweet, fun trucker twice my age, which was fine, becausesweetandfunwere my top two criteria. Also, he kept his hands away from the danger zones, which was good. I would hate to ruin a guy’s night by kneeing him in the balls.

By the next song — Journey’s “Any Way You Want It” — Hank had been edged out by Ryder, an all-American, ex-football hunk/construction worker/wannabee rodeo ace. His looks were a ten. As far as brains went, he was also a ten — on the IQ scale, give or take.

Either way, Ryder met my criteria on points one, two, three,andfour, with fun, sweet, handsomeandwell-built on his résumé. That was about the extent of his résumé, but heck. He kept his hands away from the danger zones too.

Yes, I liked to dance, preferably with a platonic partner. A placeholder, almost, that my imagination could fill in with Ingo — er, with Mr. Right, whom I would someday find and live happily ever after with.

Dancing was as far as I took things, however. A placeholder was just a placeholder, and no one had ever come along who felt right.

No one like Ingo.

I danced on, not paying much attention to who came or went, but maybe I should have. Because a few notes into the third song — Boston’s “More Than a Feeling,” appropriately — an itchy sensation registered on my back. I swiped at the spot a couple of times before losing the beat and turning slowly.

“Dammit, Ingo…” I muttered.

There he was, taking up way too much of a dim corner booth all by himself.

I cursed the day Ingo had been introduced to Buffalo Bill’s by Nash, my sister Erin’s flame. Literally. Nash was a dragon shifter. And, yikes. My sister now was too.

My sisters Erin and Abby went out a lot less often than I, but when they did, they came here.

“You know that guy?” Ryder growled.

I went back to dancing. “Yes.”

“What is he — a hit man or something?”

I laughed out loud. “Guess again.”

A nervous tic set in at the corner of Ryder’s eye. “FBI agent with a license to kill?”

I laughed again. So much for Ingo keeping a low profile.

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