Leonard parked in the lot of Mario’s Pizzeria & Restaurant across the street from the strip mall that housed the ballet studio. He checked his watch. Eight thirty, Saturday evening. Sarah should be there. For the last five nights, she’d shown up at eight o’clock, driven by her lover from the farm. He twisted his mouth and shook his head.
Last Monday, after he had witnessed Sarah’s betrayal, he’d followed them to the studio. He couldn’t risk being spotted as a tail, so he’d parked across the street to watch on Tuesday. Sure enough, they’d shown up at the same time.
Every night of the week, they’d followed the same routine. The man parked around the back of the building. He always came to the front and yanked on the door, as if checking the locks. A few minutes later, he would leave and return within an hour or so. Perfect. Leonard wouldn’t need much time for what he had planned. Same routine, all week. Except they weren’t here tonight.
Through his binoculars, he scanned the face of the building. A glass door and windows provided a view of the interior. To the left of a counter was a hall with restrooms at the end. The studio itself had to be behind the door to the right of the desk where people came in and out. The reception area remained unoccupied at certain times. Leonard wrote down when and for how long. Each entry on a separate line, evenly spaced, in military time for accuracy. At nineteen-thirty each night, everyone left the building, and a woman locked the door.
Tonight, more people kept arriving, and it didn’t appear the place would be closing at the usual time. Leonard got out of the car, crossed the street, and strolled along the sidewalk in front of the stores. He paused at the dance studio. A flyer on the window advertised beginner classes Saturday and Sunday nights from seven to nine. No wonder Sarah hadn’t shown up. She must only come on weeknights.
As he plodded back to his car, the tension in his shoulders made him hunch. He stretched before getting back in, but it didn’t help. Over and over, the gut-wrenching image of Sarah kissing that man replayed in his head.
From the glove compartment, he pulled out the satin pointe shoe ribbons. He wrapped and unwrapped them around his left index finger six times and again six times around his right. At last, his muscles loosened, and the image faded.
The wonderful life he’d planned with Sarah had ended with that kiss. Weak. She had let another sway and control her. Now she’d pay for it.
He tucked away the ribbons.
Something nagged at him. Sarah’s lover had left the farm in the morning and never come back. Not his usual behavior. With him out of the picture, Sarah stood a better chance of being alone. Leonard tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Finally, this might be his opportunity.
Morgan lit candles and fluffed her hair. So far, things had gone as she’d hoped. Bruce had loved the new horse. After tonight, she wouldn’t need the excuse to take trips with him. She had him right where she wanted. A laugh bubbled in her throat as she glanced at the bed. Well, not quite yet.
Her gaze swept around the suite. She’d booked two but had to change the reservation when Bruce insisted he stay in a regular room. With all the money he had, it made no sense, but she didn’t care. He’d be in her bed most of the night anyway.
The champagne she’d ordered sat on ice in a silver bucket. He wouldn’t refuse a toast to the new acquisition. At least she’d get him to her suite that way. After he took one look at her, the rush of his blood from one head to the other would do the rest.
She rolled on black fishnet stockings and snapped them to a lacy garter belt. A crotchless thong and a black underwire cupless bra, exposing her breasts, completed the look. She dabbed on some candy-apple–red lipstick, then stepped into a pair of silver stilettos. Standing in front of the mirrored closet, she admired herself. Victoria’s Secret models had nothing on her. She slipped on a satin robe and picked up her cell phone.
“Hey, Bruce. How about stopping in for a celebratory toast?”
“Thanks, but I have some work to do.”
“Always working. Phooey. I have a bottle of champagne chilling. I hate to waste it, but I’m not going to drink alone.”
He didn’t answer right off, then said, “I need a half hour at least.”
“No problem. I’ll be waiting. Room 602.”
“Okay. But just one. I wanna get to bed early.”
“Me too.” With him.