Golden Dancer Read Online Free PDF

no rock on the porch, in she came. Hell, he hadn’t had a rock on the porch in a long time.
    She walked into his tiny living room, which also served as an office. It was an old Laguna-style cottage. He called it comfortable, but somebody else might think seedy. Originally, it had been constructed as someone’s summer retreat back in the early twentieth century. It wasn’t really up to the rigors of everyday life, especially in rain or wind. But now it was spring, so the old girl held up fine.
    Debbie patted his shoulder as she passed him on her way to the couch. “Hey, buddy. You writing?”
    “Kind of.” Funny, he always felt completely at home with Debbie, but right now he felt awkward. Afraid those perceptive brown eyes would see too much, maybe?
    She plopped down, the indeterminate fabric making a squishy sound. “You doing that ballet piece? I don’t want to disturb you.” Of course, she didn’t look like she was about to get up and leave.
    “No, I posted that yesterday, right after I saw the rehearsal.” Yeah, and before he’d entertained the lead dancer with a nice handjob. Shit.
    “So, you working on Terrebone?”
    “Yeah.” He pushed his office chair away from the computer and turned toward her.
    She laughed. “You know, sometimes I feel sorry for that guy you’re so obsessed with proving a thief.”
    Mac frowned at her. “He is a thief. You wouldn’t doubt my time-honored instincts, would you?” He tried to grin.
    “Sure, Mac. It’s just that the guy made his millions on his own. He’s a real genius and a true entrepreneur. Hell, he gives away a ton of money to charity and, I don’t know, securing world peace or something. He strikes me as one of the good guys. Why would he steal some statue when he could buy sixty of them?”
    That was the question, wasn’t it? Shit. “I don’t know, but I do know he wanted that statue really bad—bad enough to do something outside the box to get it, I figure. And he certainly has the resources to get the job done.”
    She made a humming sound. Not too convinced. “So give. How was it? Is he as amazing as they say?”
    “Terrebone?”
    “No, nitwit, Medveyev.”
    Mac glanced away. Amazing in more ways than one. “Yeah, he’s amazing.”
    She leaned forward, throwing the curly red mane over her shoulder to get it out of her face. “Yes, and…? You see the greatest dancer of his generation, and you’re not running off at the mouth? Hell, are you sure he was that great?”
    He had to move. He got up and walked the few steps into the little kitchen. “Yes, he’s that great. You want a beer or some iced tea?”
    “Tea, thanks.” He could feel her looking at his back as he fished the pitcher from the refrigerator and poured the tea. He knew he should be talking a blue streak about the man, but he just couldn’t do it. Every feeling he had about Trelain seemed too personal to share. Too revealing.
    “Mac, are you okay?”
    Yeah, he knew that question was coming. He didn’t know how to answer it. He turned with two glasses of tea, a smile plastered on his face. “Sure, I’m fine.”
    She cocked her head and looked at him sideways. “No, you’re not. What’s going on? Did the ballet thing bring up bad memories or something? Shit, sweetie, I didn’t mean to drag you back in time.”
    “No, nothing like that.” He handed her the glass and sat in the comfy chair opposite the couch. The room was just big enough for a little sitting area, his desk, and a million books.
    She took a sip. “So what, then? And don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ crap.”
    Okay, she was his best friend. Nobody knew him better than Debbie, including his parents. But still… “Something happened I wasn’t expecting, that’s all.”
    “What? At the ballet?”
    “The ballet was phenomenal. The Russian is brilliant. Beyond description, really.” He sighed. “The rest of it feels weird to talk about.”
    Her eyes widened. “To me? It feels weird to talk to me,