Blade Dance by Danica St. Como

 
     
    Prologue
     
     
    It’s my favorite shirt. Why did I wear my favorite shirt? The blood stains will never wash out .
    Theo didn’t try to hide the light blue button-down shirt among his personal belongings. One never knew when one might be stopped for traffic violations, even bogus violations. That’s how stupid people got caught. He glanced around the burger joint’s empty parking lot then snuck behind the building. He lifted the filled-to-the-top refuse container lid, checked out the contents, chose a likely candidate.
    Since the shirt is ruined, might as well use it to wipe the blade clean .
    Once the waxed paper and cardboard containers were emptied from a grease-laden burger bag, he folded and rolled the shirt so the blood was on the inside of the cotton bundle, then carefully slid it into the bag. He did the same with his bloody Latex gloves, but stuffed that bag deep in the opposite corner of the refuse container. He’d scoped out the Dumpsters in the area, checked out when the trash was picked up and how early in the morning, prior to the restaurant opening for business. Before anyone would think to file a missing person report.
    People are so stupid. They always wait to make the missing person call. They always believe the person will show up, late and apologetic, and no one wants to be embarrassed. The police won’t let concerned family or friends file a report immediately, for the same reason. It all works for me. Every delay means I’m further removed from the situation. No association, whatsoever .
    He returned to his vehicle, pulled another pale blue button-down shirt from his luggage. It was his blue day, after all, mustn’t interfere with the proper order of his life. After he’d fastened the last button, he tucked in the tails properly, took a deep, calming breath, and settled into the driver’s seat. He counted to five. Assuring himself that all the doors were locked and the seatbelt was correctly fastened, he counted to five again then moved the gear selector into D for drive .
    No one could see him, but he smiled nonetheless.
    I love it when a plan comes together .

 
     
    Chapter One
     
     
    The universe conspired to piss off Wallis Gardner. Her men were still on assignment. Not only did she miss them, but she was left to struggle with the goddamned mail from the goddamned mailbox. Several days’ worth of letters and one parcel were spread all over the ground as evidence, as she tried to balance on her goddamned crutches. The fiberglass cast, reaching from mid-thigh to mid-calf, acted as an awkward anchor, which didn’t help her current frame of mind. Where are Michael and Austin when I need them ?
    It didn’t matter that the perp who shot up her leg was dead. The bastard had done enough damage before his demise. Her Kevlar vest hadn’t helped. The guy’s first .9mm round snapped her right tibia and fibula; the second bullet shattered her right knee. As least the asswipe only took out one leg, not both . When the hail of returned gunfire came to an end, “suicide by cop” was the unofficial verdict.
    It would have been justifiable homicide by Wallis, if he hadn’t taken me out first, and if the SWAT guys hadn’t taken him out, second .
    She pictured her men tramping through the goddamned woods in goddamned upstate New York—blond, blue-eyed Austin Cooper, second of their ménage a trois , partner to dark-haired, grizzly bear Michael Gallo, their third. Actually, second and third positions were interchangeable.
    Members of the elite Bureau of Criminal Investigation in upstate New York, the specialized detectives had been called out, again.
    Everyone was busy tracking down leads on the most recent missing woman, the third in three months. Maggie Stowe, a young mother with a toddler, had gone missing in broad daylight. She’d never returned after leaving home to do her grocery shopping. At least the baby had been home with her granny . The color photo in the news of the little