Dying for a Dance Read Online Free Page A

needed to assault anyone.
    With her legs thrust apart, Irina pointed down at her belly. “I haff to poosh!”
    Tom crouched next to the red-faced Rambo. His soothing voice settled her down. Nanette squatted next to him. Between them, they were finally able to talk Irina into walking down to Boris's office for some privacy. The two medical technicians followed at a safe distance.
    It didn't look like there would be room for anyone else in Boris's office, not that anyone had asked for my assistance, so I collapsed in one of the chairs lining the perimeter of the studio. The two deputies were still taking statements. My gaze shifted from the row of teachers to the students sequestered together, waiting their turn so they could go home.
    I shivered, realizing any one of them could be a killer.
    My dark musings were interrupted by loud cheers coming from Boris's office, followed by high pitched wailing. The baby sounded like a miniature version of his or her mother.
    Evidently I wasn't the only one curious to see the new arrival. The female instructors ignored Montana's protests to stay in place and rushed to the office, hovering outside the door like a flock of brightly feathered exotic birds. The tall, lithesome dancers blocked the doorway and I couldn't see into the room. My stomach rumbled with hunger as I wandered back into the main studio.
    Anya's satin turquoise outfit glittered among the more somber clothing worn by the male instructors gathered together. She appeared to be the only female not interested in the arrival of the baby. An hour ago Anya had been sobbing over the dead man's body. Now she laughed and flirted with Yuri, another instructor, her arm draped familiarly over the handsome dancer's shoulder, her slender fingers stroking his thick tawny brown hair.
    The sultry dancer's attention shifted suddenly to the entrance of the studio. She froze in place, staring at a tall, slim woman who was attempting to gain entry. The look of hatred that marred Anya's beautiful face brought the blood in my veins to a freezing halt.
    Deputy Katzenbach appeared to be in a heated discussion with the new arrival. When the woman turned her head, I recognized the short stylish black hair and profile of Dana Chandler, the wife of the president of Hangtown Bank, my employer. Although we occasionally crossed paths in the ladies room when the bank held its annual holiday party, we definitely did not travel in the same social circles.
    Did she and Mr. Chandler take dance lessons at this studio? It was difficult imagining the short rotund CEO ballroom dancing with his tall elegant wife. What was even harder to visualize was the two of them attempting the rhumba.
    Either vertically or horizontally.
    The clatter of a gurney on the wooden floor resounded throughout the studio, jerking me back to the present. The paramedics grinned as they conveyed their charge across the room. Irina waved one regal hand at her devoted subjects as she gazed lovingly at the newborn, swaddled in a white blanket, resting on her chest. Tom and Nanette both wore pleased expressions on their faces. There was nothing like the birth of a child to soothe the memory of a recent death.
    Tom moved toward the front entrance so I followed. I was hungry and tired and ready to go home. Surely he must be done with me by now. Dana slumped against the wall, a stunned expression on her face. Even from several feet away, Deputy Katzenbach's voice boomed as he chastised the new arrival.
    “Listen, lady, I don't care if you're married to the President of the United States. We have a crime scene here and enough suspects to fill a football stadium. You can't come in, so go home and let us do our job.”
    Tom's tone of voice was less truculent, but equally firm. “I'm sorry ma'am, but you can't enter the building. We'll be tied up for the next few hours interviewing everyone as it is. If you leave your name and number, I promise to call you tomorrow.”
    Dana straightened her