Death of a Chorus Girl (The Delacroix Series Book 1) by P. M. Briede Read Free Book Online Page A

Houston, and we do the lift slowly while I point out Avery’s errors.  “You have to plant your foot on his calf, not on his ankle, not in his knee, and not on the floor.  He’s a strong man, he can take it.”  A hop gets my hips on his shoulder then I lean forward to grasp his arms while extending my legs, one pointing straight up and the other down his back.  This lets me secure myself by pinning his shoulder, chest, and back, between my pelvis and thigh.  Once in the air, I flip over his shoulder, using his arms for balance until my feet hit the floor.  “Alright, now Houston, how about we do the lift full speed.”  We cue the music and run through the steps.
    The music ends, and we stop moving. I turn my attention to Avery, but Richard catches my eye.  His are wide with astonishment and fixed on me, with his jaw marginally gaping.  I blush at his open appreciation before instructing Avery to try again as I turn my back to him.
    “Push harder off that foot, Avery!”  She finally nails it on the second attempt.  With that calamity resolved, I tell them to go back to running the full routine and motion towards the stairs for Richard to follow me into the house for his questions.
    We take a seat, but he doesn’t say anything immediately.  He just sits there watching one full run through.  “You designed all of that?” Richard asks, the words dripping with awe.
    “Yes, that’s what they pay me to do.  Thank you, by the way, for letting me help,” I state matter-of-factly as I look back at the dancers.  “I’m supposed to have a completed routine to show everyone tomorrow morning, so every minute is precious.”
    “No need.  You have a job to do.  I get that.”  His probing eyes turn to me, pulling my gaze.
    I am stunned when his hand takes mine.  “What happened to keeping things professional?” I tease with an arched eyebrow.  His hand drops mine as if it burned him and the rose in his cheeks deepens.  It occurs to me that he moved without conscious thought.
    “Please forgive me, Ms. Delacroix.”  The hand that had taken mine is now scrubbing at his face before he crosses his arms over his chest.
    “I’m assuming you have more questions for me, detective?”
    “Richard.”  My heart flutters at his request.  He isn’t looking at me, his gaze still transfixed on the stage.  “And yes, I have more questions, Em.”  I try not to focus on the palpable tension resonating between us.  “What are you doing Sunday evening?”
    I’m sorry, what?!  Did he just ask me out?   “Surely, you misspoke, detective .”
    Blinking, Richard tears his eyes from the stage and trains them on me.  “No, Ms. Delacroix , I did not.  My partner is done with your techs and your dancers sidetracked us.  I was hoping to make an appointment with you to go over the rest of my questions, uninterrupted.”
    Stupid!  Of course, he isn’t asking you out.   “Oh, yes, um, of course.  Whatever you need.  Should I come down to the precinct?”
    “Thank you, but no.  I don’t want there to be an impression you’re a suspect.  Can I meet you somewhere?”  Richard becomes rigid like stone and sits there stoically regarding me.
    Dinner at my place?  No, something more professional.   “My office address is on the card I gave you.  Do you still have it?”  Or did you toss it the minute I left the precinct?
    “I do,” Richard answers with an easy smile.  “How does five o’clock sound?”  I nod.  Maybe if it takes a while, it will be appropriate to offer to buy him dinner. Or maybe I should just have it brought in?  “Then I’ll see you on Sunday, Ms. Delacroix.”
    We stand and I plan not to say anything.  But as I shake his proffered hand, I confess, “I look forward to it, Detective Giordano.”  It is an idiotic thing to say.  Who looks forward to being questioned about a homicide investigation by a cop?  But when the cop looks like Richard and looks at you the way he