He stands and bows, then starts through his kata. I watch, mesmerized by his strength and control. When he finishes and bows again, and I’m both speechless and breathless, and I haven’t even moved yet.
“Your turn,” he says.
I nod, because I’m not sure I can talk. He bows, and I manage to get my act together enough to straighten up and stand at his side. I bow.
“So, first is the rising sun,” he says, spreading his legs and lifting his arms slowly as he breathes in, elbows bent and palms forward.
I shift slowly into rising sun as I inhale, mimicking his position.
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Fine.” And it’s not a lie.
“Good. Then it’s two quick gyaku zuki. Left, right,” he says, sinking into a crouch and demonstrating a quick reverse punch in each direction.
I repeat his movements.
“Stay over your base.”
I glare at him. “If I wasn’t over my base, I’d be on my ass.”
A smirk plays over his mouth, then vanishes. “Next is a front punch followed by a quick forearm block, right then left, then a back kick right.”
As I reproduce his quick movements, he comes around behind me.
“Remember, these are defensive strikes,” he says, laying his hands on my hips. “Stay balanced and exhale with the blow. Try it again.”
I do and his hands tighten on my hips.
“You’re screwing up my balance,” I tell him, spinning in his arms.
There’s a long minute where neither of us moves, but then I find myself leaning forward without even meaning to. Damn, he smells good.
“Don’t, Sam,” he says low, closing his eyes. But he doesn’t pull away.
He’s tense, every muscle coiled tight. His hands are fisted at his sides, his body ramrod straight as he fights with himself. I lean in a little more, so we’re as close as we can possibly be without actually touching. Heat radiates off his body in waves, and I close my eyes, taking it in.
He tips his forehead down to mine. “I have to focus, Sam,” he says through a tight jaw, fighting to control the shake in his voice. “If I’m going to help Jonathan and take Arroyo off the street, I can’t compromise this case by going where we’re headed.”
He says this, but he still doesn’t pull away.
So I do.
Because the most important thing right now is finding Jonathan.
I spin for the stairs before I do something stupid.
“Sam! Wait,” he says as I start to bound up them.
I stop and turn back.
He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, blowing out a breath. He lifts his eyes from the floor and looks at me from under long blond lashes. “We got word from Arroyo’s defense team. They want to interview you.”
I come down a step. “Interview me? Can they do that?”
He nods. “It’s common practice, but our attorneys will be there with you. They’ll make sure everything’s on the up and up.”
A band tightens around my chest as I come down the last step. “Will Ben be there?”
“Not at the interview, no.”
“But he’ll be in court when I testify.”
“I’m afraid so.” He leans on the back of the sofa. “It’s going to take some fortitude to do this, Sam, but I have faith in you. I know you want to help Jonathan and that girl.”
“You really think what I know is going to help?”
“The victim was wearing the clothes you described when he was found. No one saw him alive after he walked into Arroyo’s office. We’re still hoping for trace, but I believe what we have is enough to make our case.”
“Then what happens? After I testify, and you’re done with me? Will you just send me home? Will Ben leave me alone?”
His lips purse. “We won’t know that until we see how it all turns out. There are programs for people in your situation. It’s something you should consider.”
A wave of shock sweeps through me, leaving me numb. “You mean like witness protection?”
He nods slowly.
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh, God.”
He’s right in front of me. I can feel him there before he even speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “I really hope it doesn’t come to that, but taking Arroyo off the street is important. Really important. And you’re the only hope we have of making that happen right now.”
“He really has that girl?”
“I believe he’s responsible for her disappearance, yes.”
I lift my face and look at him. “And Jonathan?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know, Sam.”
I need to think,” I say, moving to the French doors to the pool. Blake lets me go and I wind down the path and drop onto the end of one of the lounges. My dragonfly is there, on the edge of the pool. He keeps me company while I cry.
Chapter Twenty-Three
BLAKE LEADS ME into a room in the courthouse where five men in suits are sitting on opposite sides of a table. My feet stall in the door.
“Where’s Yvonne?” I whisper.
He grasps my arm and backs us up a step, into the hall. “She was your criminal attorney. You’re not charged with anything anymore, so you don’t have a lawyer.”
“I liked her.”
His face goes sympathetic. “I’m sorry. But our attorneys are here to keep Arroyo’s team in line. It’s going to be okay.”
I take a calming breath and we step back into the room. All Ben’s guys are on one side of the table, and Blake and I move to the other, where the two DEA lawyers make room for us between them. Introductions are made, hands are shaken, and we all take seats. The only thing holding me together is Blake’s leg, pressed against mine under the table.
“Miss West, thank you for meeting with us,” the Asian guy on the other side of the table says.
“I didn’t realize it was a choice,” I mutter.
That gets a tight smile from the fat man next to me, one of the DEA guys.
“So, just to make sure we have all the facts straight, you were working at Benjamin Arroyo’s nightclub, Benny’s, as an exotic dancer?” the Asian one says, looking over his paperwork.
“Yes.” I want to add more, but I remember Yvonne’s rules and keep it to yes and no.
“And, on the night of April twenty-sixth, you were working?”
“Yes.”
“How long was your shift that night?”
“I started on stage at nine, and Nora . . . Ben’s wife, pulled me off around eleven-thirty.”
“So, it’s safe to assume you were tired, after dancing for two and a half hours on stage.”
“No.”
He gives me a skeptical smile. “You might have had a drink or two to relax?”
I have no idea where he’s going with this, but I work to hide my nerves. “Only water.”
“You’re sure about that?”
I open my mouth to say yes, but cringe as I remember. “Ben gave me a scotch or two.”
He nods, satisfied.
“But I wasn’t drunk.”
He squints at me, as if he finds that hard to believe. “How did you end up working at Benny’s, Miss West?”
“I interviewed and Ben hired me.”
He squints at his paperwork. “But . . . weren’t you enrolled at UC Santa Cruz?”
A stone sinks in my gut. “I was.”
“And you were asked to leave for academic reasons.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
“How many morning classes did you have last quarter, Miss West?”
“Define morning,” I say.
He waves a hand in a circle. “I believe the precise definition can be found in Webster’s, but for our purposes, can we agree on anything before noon, say?”
“Two on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and one on Tuesday and Thursday.”
“And, how many of those class sessions would you estimate you attended?” he asks, looking smug. “Just give us a ballpark percentage.”