Free A Dangerous Dance by Pauline Baird Jones Page A

seemed to be taking care not to look at each other as they went through the political meet-and-greet with anyone they could get a hold of.
    Beside her, Remy tensed. “Barnes.”
    His tone caught her attention. He nodded at a short, stocky man with very little hair. The man's expression hovered between cynicism and interest, the interest directed at her, or so it appeared. He gave Remy an expectant look. After a short hesitation, Remy obliged.
    “Dorothy, this is Clinton Barnes.”
    Dorothy held out her hand. “I've seen you before, haven't I?”
    “He was Vance's attorney,” Remy said.
    “Oh.” Dorothy's jaw slackened and she pulled herself together. She shook the hand he extended toward her and felt the scrape of paper against her palm. When he released her hand, the paper was still wedged between her index finger and her thumb. Dorothy clutched the scrap, trying not to show her surprise. “I'm sorry about your client.”
    “Do you really think he was going to talk?” he asked. “I never could convince him to, not even to reduce his sentence.”
    Dorothy shrugged. “It seemed to me he was going to. Obviously someone else agreed. I guess he never told you?”
    Barnes shook his head, but his eyes told her he knew something. “It was nice to meet you. I liked your father and was very sorry about what happened.”
    “Thank you.”
    He moved off and Dorothy turned to look at Remy. “That was interesting.”
    “Yes,” he said, but something happened when their gazes connected, that diverted her attention from Barnes. Heat began to build, a delicious heat, that should have been uncomfortable when the hot night was already a factor, but somehow wasn't. Her surroundings moved away, leaving her alone with Remy for a brief moment and then she felt someone look at her. It was like being touched with ice. It traced down her back, turning her body leaden and afraid. With an effort, she managed to keep her face from changing, but she couldn't stop herself from stiffening. Remy noticed, his gaze tracking past her to scan the crowd, until he too stiffened.
    “It's Darius Smith,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear so she could hear him. His breath was warm and comforting, but not enough against the icy blast that emanated from Smith. “Number three on our list of suspects.”
    Dorothy drew a sharp deep breath as Smith approached. His gaze was an icy blow, but with something else at its heart, something that made her uneasy and feeling exposed.
    He must have been around before, but she didn't remember him at all, which seemed odd now. What she knew about him came from Magus's file on him, which was very little. It was a spare recital of facts and figures, as chilly and remote as Smith himself. It was the first time he'd left her unprepared. She wondered why, as Darius approached them, tall and cadaverously thin, but with a panther-like grace and menace. Because she felt like a staked out doe, she lifted her chin and stood her mental ground.
    He stopped in front of Dorothy, something in his stance tacitly shutting Remy out of the conversation. The air was dark and hot, but she still felt cold, a cold so deep if felt like she'd never be warm again. His gaze plowed into hers, as if taking an answer to a question she didn't want to know, let alone acknowledge. Her throat dried to parchment and her whole body seemed to go numb with shock from the mental assault. She couldn't feel Remy gripping her arm anymore. She couldn't feel the ground under her feet. There were just those icy, blue eyes and the roaring in her ears that sounded like glaciers wrenching lose to crash into the depths of the sea. It took enormous effort to lift her brows in haughty inquiry.
    The thin lips curved in a humorless smile. “Darius Smith. I knew your parents.”
    Something unwholesome flickered hot, but brief in his eyes. He took her hand before she could react and lifted it to press a cold, but lingering kiss on the back. Ice spread from the