Swing of Death, page 16
Molly meticulously sealed Jane Doe’s clothing and marked and labeled her slides. She headed over to their evidence locker. As she swung open the door, she moaned. “All the sealed evidence bags pertaining to the case are missing,” she cried out, her voice trembling with disbelief. “Adam, everything is gone.”
The realization left her feeling helpless and exposed. It was a devastating blow, one that left Molly feeling a sense of betrayal.
“We need to figure out how this happened,” she declared. “And we need to do it fast. Call the police.” She proceeded to open every locker, hoping the evidence was placed in the wrong one. Her composure dissipated as she sat on the floor and dropped her weary head into her hands.
Molly's mind was foggy, exhaustion tugging at her every thought. She stared around her lab, her heart sinking deeper every minute. She needed to act, to salvage whatever remained on the newly discovered body and her clothing.
With trembling fingers, she dialed Alex's number, her voice wavering as she recounted what she’d discovered. “Investigator Marcel,” she choked out, her throat tight with emotion, “it's Molly Everhart at the ME’s office. We've had a theft—the trailer and cargo container evidence are all missing. I’ve called the Waverly County Police as well.”
She dialed a new phone number, Ethan Hayes. He was a lifeline when she was drowning. This was threatening to drown her again. She needed his reassurance, his steady demeanor to anchor her fraying nerves.
As angry tears streamed down her cheeks, she poured out her fears to him. “I'm scared, Ethan,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “I don't know if I can fix this. I may be fired. I may no longer have a career.”
But before she could steady herself, Alex burst into the room. He pulled her to her feet, guiding her to her office with a firm hand.
Ethan listened carefully, concerned as Molly’s anguish carried over the phone line. He smiled, proud she was keeping the line open. He could hear every word of her statement to Alex and the Waverly County Police.
Clad as Ethan Haven in black jeans, a white tee shirt, a gray and black flannel, black boots and a long black leather coat, he drove to the ME's office, and on his arrival, he demanded to see Dr. Everhart.
Security raised an eyebrow at his insistence. As he identified himself as Molly's boyfriend, surprise rumbled through the area. The desk operator made a fast call.
Alex intercepted him and asked for identification. Ethan stiffened as Alex frisked him. He left his weapon in a lockbox in his vehicle.
“Come this way, Mr. Haven,” he whispered as he escorted him down the empty corridors. “We’ve locked down the building. One of my investigators, Cormac, is overseeing the DOJ’s forensic team, and your guy, Hamilton, is overseeing the search of the building and the parked cars.
“Ethan,” he murmured, his tone urgent yet cautious, “this is deeper than we thought. And Molly's at the center of it.”
His voice rose. “Mr. Haven, it would be wise for you to stay with Dr. Everhart here. She is exhausted and anxious. We confirmed her car was towed from the convention center lot and is stored at a county police tow yard. We have confirmed there is no evidence in her trunk. Once we search her apartment, she can return there.”
Ethan frowned. “I want to get her out of here. I’d like to take her to my studio. She’s never been there before. It will get her away from the investigation.”
“If she confirms that and agrees to go, she can leave with you,” Alex said.
Ethan shoved his balled-up hands into his pockets. He knew he’d do the same thing if he was running this investigation.
It was a little after eleven in the morning when Ethan finally made it to her office. He approached her with tenderness, gently waking her with a soft kiss.
Molly stirred, wrapping her arms around Ethan's neck as she arched into his embrace. “The evidence was stolen,” she murmured.
“You need to get some rest,” he insisted as he scooped her into his embrace.
“But I'm afraid to leave what I found on the fresh post,” Molly admitted, trembling with anxiety. “Debbie might sabotage it.”
“It’s okay, my dove,” Ethan reassured her. “The police have locked down the lab. Investigator Marcel has arranged for extra security to protect the evidence.” He coaxed her to her feet and led her down the corridors to the outside.
As they stepped out into the cool morning air, Ethan opened the passenger door of his black Jeep. He lifted her inside and leaned over her to buckle her seatbelt. He couldn’t resist pressing his lips to hers.
The kiss started sweet, but as his mind fixated on what had happened over the weekend and through the day, their passion exploded. His tongue pressed between her lips, and he seized her mouth in a demanding and protective kiss that had one meaning: mine.
Twenty
Molly felt the gentle sway of the Jeep as it started to move, the hum of the engine lulling her into a drowsy state. She drifted off, only to be roused by a hard stop. Blinking groggily, she looked around, confusion knitting her brows. “Where are we?” She peered out of the windows.
Ethan turned to her. “Alex's team had to search your apartment. We’re at the Haven Dance Studio,” he explained, his voice filled with regret.
She turned pale. Paler than she already was. “How could they think I’m involved?”
Ethan reached out and wrapped his hand around hers. “They'll find nothing incriminating,” he assured her. “It'll prove you're innocent.”
Molly forced a smile, teasing him about his office being a potential “sex den.” His sensual smile in return sent a shiver down her spine, igniting a spark of desire.
As they entered the studio, Ethan locked the doors behind them, leading her to the windowless back office. The room was spacious, with a large couch, a desk, and an ensuite bathroom. He took her coat, his lips brushing against her neck in a tempting caress.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I can order takeout, or we can just sleep.”
Yawning, Molly replied, “Sleep, please.” She hadn't realized it was a folding bed until Ethan opened it and pulled clean sheets and pillows from a nearby closet.
“Joanne sleeps here some nights when I teach late,” he explained, making the bed.
Molly slipped out of her clothes, down to her bra and panties, and settled onto the bed. “Come rest with me.”
Ethan checked his watch. “I have a few hours before I have to open the studio. And then you and I have work to do,” he reminded her, his tone gentle yet firm. He kicked off his boots and stripped down to his underwear, joining her on the bed and pulling her close.
They nestled together, warmth seeping into their tired bodies. In Ethan's arms, she slept peacefully.
Marcus greeted his colleague, Otis, with a nod as he approached the van parked in front of the decrepit warehouse. He had been assigned the task of driving the captured women on the next leg of their journey across the US. But Otis, a bulky man who earned his nickname due to his resemblance to an elevator, wore a deep frown.
“What's with you, dance boy?” Otis grumbled, his voice low and gruff. “You were supposed to drive.”
Marcus's brow furrowed at the unexpected change of plans. “Boss changed their mind,” he explained. “Sarah and I are going to compete. I need to rearrange the leadership board.”
A sinister glint danced in Otis's eyes as he leaned in closer. “And who's getting the ax this time?” he asked, a smirk on his lips.
Marcus's expression darkened. “Ethan Haven,” he spat out, his disdain palpable. “That pompous fool thinks he's untouchable. I deserve that rank.”
“Ah, Ethan Haven,” he chuckled, his voice dripping with malice. “But you've got bigger plans, don't you?”
A lascivious smile spread across Marcus's face. His eyes gleamed as he nodded. “Yeah, I do,” he confirmed. “I've found my private dancer. Sweet Miss Molly Everhart. She'll be my prize for all this effort.” The thought of claiming Molly, the esteemed ME, aroused him. “Sarah and I will be able to fill the arena with more fans,” he boasted.
Marcus's words made Otis visibly shudder. “So, Molly Everhart, huh?” he remarked. “What makes you think she'll go along with this?”
Marcus's grin widened, revealing his predatory nature. “Oh, she'll come around,” he assured Otis. “Everyone has their breaking point, and I intend to find hers.”
The thought of breaking Molly, of bending her to his will, filled Marcus with twisted excitement. He was filled with arrogance and cruelty.
Otis turned to Marcus. “What exactly is this arena you keep talking about?”
Marcus's eyes darkened. “The arena,” he replied, his voice low and threatening, “is an auction like no other. A gathering of the most powerful individuals, all vying for the chance to own their very own plaything.”
“But who are these women?” he pressed.
Marcus's lips curled into a cruel smirk as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against Otis's ear. “They're nothing but merchandise,” he whispered. “Captured and auctioned off to the highest bidder. And Sarah and I are going to make sure our prizes fetch a hefty sum.”
Otis had always known he was transporting women for the auctions, but it was only now, standing in the dimly lit warehouse and seeing Marcus’s cold, unfeeling eyes as he callously barked orders, that he truly grasped the depths of his boss’s evil.
“But how can you do this?” he protested. “How can you treat human beings like objects?”
“In our line of work,” Marcus sneered, “morality is a luxury we can't afford. And in the arena, anything goes.”
As Marcus reveled in his plans, Otis couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort bothering him. He had always been a willing participant in their illicit operations—the money was great. But something about Marcus's ruthless desire to enslave Molly Everhart unsettled him deeply.
“You sure about Molly?” Otis asked tentatively, his voice betraying a hint of doubt. “What if she fights back?”
But Marcus's brow rose. “She won't,” he declared with a wave of his hand. “They never do. Once we've got them cornered, they'll do whatever it takes to survive.”
Otis swallowed hard, his actions pressing down on him. He knew he should speak out, put an end to their depraved schemes before it was too late. But the fear of Marcus's wrath, the terror of disappearing like others before him, held him back. And if he admitted it, he loved the cash.
Resigned, Otis nodded in agreement, his gaze drifting to the van where their unsuspecting captives awaited their next move. He felt a twisted satisfaction knowing the power he held over their fate. As he drove away from the storage unit, he was acutely aware of the wrongness of his actions, the lives he was destroying for his own selfish gain. But as Marcus always reminded him, in this world, morality was a luxury he couldn't afford.
And so, with each passing mile, Otis embraced the evil that consumed him, acknowledging there was no turning back from the path he had chosen. As he hurtled down the highway, he felt a dark thrill at the thought of how many more innocent lives would be changed by his hand.
Molly's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Ethan's alarm, meeting his sensual blue eyes. He pressed a sweet kiss against her lips before he slid out of the pull-out bed. A sudden chill enveloped her as she watched him leave, leaving her feeling oddly empty.
“I'll get my instructors going, and then we can begin work in Studio 4,” Ethan announced, his voice breaking through the silence of the room.
Curiosity piqued, Molly asked, “How many studios do you have?”
“Eight,” Ethan replied casually, causing her eyes to widen in surprise.
It dawned on her as she remembered Alex teaching at the small Waverly Junction dance studio where she danced. “I don’t have dance clothes.”
“We have a selection of dancewear and shoes next to the reception desk. Help yourself. I'll let my desk person know.”
Swallowing back her nerves, Molly dressed in her street clothing and made her way to the reception area. The sight of preschoolers and kindergarteners swarming around Ethan filled her with a strange feeling of warmth.
After choosing a simple black leotard and a pair of dance shorts with jazz shoes, Molly headed to Studio 4 as instructed. Inside, she attempted to stretch, but her muscles felt tight, and she was unable to relax.
Moments later, Ethan walked in, clad in his black jeans, white tee and sneakers. Molly couldn't help but voice her anxiety. “Ethan, I'm scared.”
Sitting beside her, he gently helped her relax before standing up and taking her hands. “Let's start with the basics,” he said reassuringly, leading her through the five fundamental steps of the dance.
Despite her best efforts, Molly felt like a complete mess, missing every cue. Frustration threatened to overwhelm her. She was stunned he didn’t get mad at her. Instead, he walked over to the sound system, selecting a song she had never heard before.
As the opening notes of “Dirty Laundry” by Don Henley filled the room, Ethan pulled her up to her feet and drew her close. “Beautiful, close your eyes and follow my lead,” he instructed, his voice filled with warmth.
As the sultry rhythm filled the room, Ethan and Molly stepped into the smooth, flowing movements of West Coast Swing. He led her with confidence, his body moving in sync with the pulsating beat.
“Okay, my dove, start with the basic step, a side-to-side movement in the slot.” Ethan's hand firmly grasped Molly's as they rocked together.
“Now the sugar push.” Ethan led Molly into a sugar push. He propelled her backward before he pulled her into his embrace. “The connection remains strong as you move in unison with me, gliding across the floor.
“That’s it. Let’s try the underarm pass. Feel the flick of my wrist.” Ethan guided Molly into an underarm pass, creating a graceful arc as she spun beneath his outstretched arm. “That’s it, my dove. Now open your eyes. Look at me. Try a tuck turn.”
He executed a tuck turn, transitioning Molly into a spin before drawing her back into his arms. “Alright, go to a whip.” With a flick of his wrist, Ethan led her into a whip, where she was propelled forward before being redirected back into his embrace. Molly finally began to relax.
“Swivels.” Ethan incorporated playful swivels, adding personality to their movements. He began to tease her as she turned across the dance floor.
“And cuddles, my dove. We need to show the audience our connection.” He led her, and she stared up at his handsome face. By the time the song ended, Ethan had pulled Molly into a final pose, and her tension had melted away.
The studio was dimly lit as Ethan locked up, echoes of their hours of rehearsal still bouncing in her head. Molly followed him out to his Jeep, rubbing her tired eyes.
“I've never been this tired before,” she confessed with a weary yawn, sinking into the passenger seat.
Ethan gave her thigh a reassuring pat. “We can grab dinner and head back to your place. Eat, shower, and sleep.”
Molly's thoughts drifted back to the lab and the investigation. “I have to look at the pathology reports and figure out what I'm going to do,” she worried. “And what we are going to do about Debbie,” she added, frustrated.
Ethan chuckled softly, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “WE are not going to do anything,” he replied calmly. “That's Alex's and the DOJ's job, plus the FBI's and the PD's job.”
Molly's eyes widened in disbelief. “But what about—”
“My job,” Ethan interrupted firmly, “is to help you become the best dancer possible and compete.”
Molly's protests died on her lips.
“And in light of what happened,” he continued, “you are going to take a leave of absence.”
“Leave of absence?” she panicked. He had told her this before, but she had disregarded it.
“Molly,” Ethan said gently, “we are going to be traveling all over and then out of the country if we don’t break this ring before that. I need you to work with me.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, his expression serious. “I need you to stay focused on the case. Your mind, your observation skills can break the case.”
He paused. “I cleared it with my bosses this morning, and after what happened, I don’t think the county will object to a leave. They will likely ask you to take a leave.”
Feeling defeated, Molly wrapped her arms around herself and sulked. She knew he was right, but the thought of stepping away from her work left her feeling lost and adrift.
But as they drove through the night, he reached for her hand. She had no choice but to trust in him.
Twenty-One
Molly wearily walked up the steps to her condominium. As she reached for her keys to unlock the door, Ethan's hand intercepted hers, deftly taking the keys and twisting the lock. The door swung open, revealing the comforting warmth of her home.
Inhaling deeply, Molly was greeted by the familiar scent of vanilla. It was in her sanctuary that she felt her tense muscles begin to unwind. She looked around. “They didn’t destroy my place searching.
Ethan’s shoulders rose. “They damn well better not have.”
Molly turned to face him. She stood on her toes and placed a kiss to his lips, closing her eyes and enjoying their softness.
He groaned and swept his tongue into her mouth. He was greeted with her stomach’s growl. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded, a small grin playing at the corners of her lips. “I could eat a horse.”
Ethan laughed, a sound that resonated deeply within her chest. Molly found herself captivated by the warmth of his sapphire-blue eyes, the curve of his full lips, and the dimples that peeked out from beneath his afternoon scruff. In the soft glow of her apartment, he seemed to radiate a comforting presence.
