Free Rumor (A Renegades Novella) by Joan Swan, Skye Jordan Page A

eyes, twirling a blue crayon between his fingers. “Don’t know.”
    Grace nodded at his drawing. “What’s that?”
    “Transformer. Santa’s gonna bring me one for Christmas.”
    “Cool,” she said. “Where’s your brother?”
    “Helping the builder man.”
    Grace looked left, toward the storeroom she already considered her dance studio. The double doors were open, and more tools and power cords lay at the threshold. The rattle of a tape measure caught Grace’s ear, and she frowned. What the hell could be broken in there?
    “Does anyone know where Jasmine is?” Grace asked the room at large. Jasmine was the dancer with the longest history at Allure, and often acted as the house mom when no house mom was around.
    “Right here.” She came around the corner from the club’s main stage. She was the most stunning black woman Grace had ever met, with one of those killer, Amazonian bodies—tall, muscular, and built. She’d pulled her long black braids off her face and wore workout tights and a tank. “Rocco will be here in ten minutes to pick up the boys.”
    “They’re never a problem. I’m worried about whatever’s going on back there, though. Please tell me it’s not something major like air-conditioning, heating, or plumbing.”
    “Nothing broken back there, honey.” Dillon and Dalton’s mother came up beside Grace, and used one perfectly manicured dark hand to lift the aluminum. “What’d you bring us?”
    “Lasagna.”
    “Nice,” she sang out, then lowered her voice and turned away from her son. “But not near as nice as the eye candy in the back.” She hooked a thumb toward the storeroom, then shook out her hand like it was hot. “Whoo-wee. If I’d known that’s who we’d have hanging around here building the studio, I’d have traded days to work all week.”
    Grace frowned. “Studio?” She glanced that direction again but only heard heavy footsteps and the movement of equipment. No voices. Her mind darted back to the large-bellied contractors who’d been chatting Dean up the night before. “Did Dean approve the bid?” She put a hand to her chest. “Be still my heart.”
    Jasmine got a devious look in her eye and grinned. “I don’t think he’s using the same contractors, ’cause the dude back there ain’t forty, ain’t balding, and his belly has more ridges than a Trojan Ultra Ribbed. And if he’s here when the rest of the girls come in tonight, you’re gonna have a hard time getting anyone out on stage. You might even have a couple of cat fights over who gets to give him the VIP treatment as a bonus .” She put air quotes around the last word, then tapped Dillon’s shoulder and brought her voice up to a normal level. “Sweet pea, go get your brother. Daddy’s gonna be here in a few minutes to take you home.”
    Dillon set the crayon down and slid off the chair.
    “I’ll come with you, Dillon,” Grace said, patting his soft head of dark curls, still frowning at Jasmine. “I’d better check out this builder man.”
    “I don’t advise stepping into that room without reflective glasses.” She put up her hands and raised her brows. “Just sayin’. Not my fault if your eyeballs fry.”
    “Jaime, Kaitlin, and Hillary,” Grace called, following Dillon as the boy skipped across the dressing room and disappeared through the open double doors, “head out to the stage and start stretching. I’ll be right there.”
    From this angle, Grace could only see one wall of the storeroom, its bare studs now covered with gypsum board. Trepidation crawled through her chest. She was going to be so pissed if Dean had gone for the cheapest labor he could find to—
    “Whoa!” The familiar male voice carried from inside the large room, one that made Grace’s feet stop midstep. Made her heart flip and squeeze. “What’s this? There’s two of you?”
    The twins giggled.
    “Good Lord, what a handful,” Josh said. “Your poor mother. No, little dude, don’t touch that. Here,