Page 2 of Shadow Dance

“I have a feeling this kid is holding back profits, maybe even making alliances and deals without his uncle’s permission,” he says with a slow nod.

Folding the paper, I tuck it into my pocket. “What exactly do you need me to do?”

“I want you to join their crew and report back to me.” Cedro opens a small, wooden box on the table beside him, procuring a cigar. “It should be easy. Dario mentioned that someone tried to runCallum’s woman off the road last week, so they’re looking for extra security.”

“Are they local?” I ask, wondering if this kid is someone I’d have run into.

“Dario lives in Marin, but his business is mostly in Oakland. That’s where Cal stays.” He gives the cigar a sniff before clipping it with a cigar cutter. “Wolf knows him.”

“Will he vouch for me?”

“I’ll vouch for you, set up the meeting,” he says. “Wolf will accompany you, be your second if necessary.”

I met Wolf, Cedro’s great nephew, when we were bartenders at the same strip club in LA. We hit it off from the beginning, and when he saw that I was down for whatever, he introduced me to his family in Santa Barbara. One thing led to another and soon I was running with the Oliveras crew full time, moving my way up through the ranks.

Wolf moved to the Bay Area with his girl a few months ago to scout potential properties for the family’s next front company. It’ll be nice to catch up with him, even if it is for business.

“When do I head out?” I ask.

“I’ll call Dario tonight, let him know I’m sending someone.” Cedro lights his cigar, peering at me as he exhales a thick cloud of smoke. “But be careful, Jaime. Trust no one.”

Chapter 1

Maeve

February

This is going to be bad.

My ankle twists beneath me as I hit the ground with a sharp thud, my wrist bending back as I try to break my fall. The pounding in my chest nearly drowns out the collective gasp in the room, and I close my eyes, breathing through the pain.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a sugary voice calls out as the pianist’s rendition ofRondo Alla Turcapeters out amidst the fuss.

I glare up at the raven-haired ballerina standing nearby, my hand twitching to grab her by the bun and toss her. She’s been fucking with me for months, but I didn’t think she’d go this far.

“Watch it, Manon, my God!” cries Miss Sabine, lavender ballet skirt fluttering as she hurries over. Kneeling beside me on the hardwood floor, she reaches for the ankle I’m cradling. “Are you okay, Maeve?”

“I don’t know.” But I do know. This feels a lot worse than the sprain I had back in college, and that had me on my ass for weeks. The other dancers crowd around me, their faces a mixture of concern and pity—all except for one, of course. Manon stays at the edge of the crowd, her doll-like blue eyes glittering as they meet mine. I stare her down until she folds her arms and looks away.Bitch.

Sabine sighs, touching her fingers gently to my rapidly swelling ankle. “This doesn’t look good. Wes, help me get her off the floor.”

Wes,the company’s principal male dancer, comes forward. His normally stoic expression flickers with sympathy for a second before he bends and scoops me into his arms.

Startled, I grab his arm. “Oh!”

Sabine sighs. “That works too, I guess.” She claps her hands twice, and I glance back as she addresses the rest of the class. “All right, back to the wall. We only have a few minutes left.”

The pianist starts over as the dancers resume the chaîné turns we were doing before Manon ran into me like a classically trained Mac truck. Now she steps to the front of the line, arms raised gracefully as she begins spinning across the floor. She’s as pretty as she is rotten.

When class is over, Sabine emerges from the storeroom with a pair of old crutches. “Use these for as long as you need, okay? Hopefully your ankle’s not as bad as it looks.”

It is that bad, but I force a smile as I loop my bag over my shoulder and steady myself on the crutches. “Thanks.”

I don’t wait for her to make excuses for her bratty little sister. Sabine might run this studio, but Manon is its star. I know where her loyalties lie. Taking a deep breath, I hobble out to my car in the parking lot behind the studio. My right foot is fine, so technically I can drive. It’ll just be a little awkward.

Not surprisingly, Callum hasn’t responded to any of my calls or texts yet. He does marketing and promotion for his uncle’s company, so he’s constantly on the go. I didn’t mind so much the first few months, because I was busy too, settling in at a new dance company and exploring my surroundings. We’ve been together a long time so we tend to do our own thing.

But eventually the novelty wore off. The gorgeous house in the Berkeley Hills with its stunning views started feeling empty and lonely, and when Callum was home, his friends were usually with him. The life I’d envisioned for us, the one he’d sold me when he begged me to move across the country to be with him, felt like a mirage that disappeared the closer to it I got.

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