He watched the two young men laugh and dance their way down the street toward his hiding place. Donald—pretty and blond, which disguised his black heart—walked with the splayed, out-turned feet of his warped, ungrateful profession.

“Oh, baby, you’re so damned pretty,” the clumsy, jockish-looking one moaned.

Pervert.

Donald danced backward, bowing as he skipped. “Thank you, kind sir.”

“Can’t you come home with me, please?”

Donald giggled. “You know I can’t. They check the beds at midnight. Someday, when I get out of the corps, I’ll have more freedom. Meanwhile, be patient. We’ll fuck next week when I get a day off.”

“Jesus, what do you expect me to do until then?”

“We all know why Mother Nature made good right hands, darling.” He stuck out his lip. “Or you can go find someone else with a lovely ass to ream.”

“Jesus, after that ass, how can I go back to ordinary?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He laughed melodiously. “Okay, give me a kiss and let me walk the rest of the way alone. No use attracting suspicion.”

The big one wrapped his arms around Donald and kissed him while rutting disgustingly against his hips.

Can’t watch. He turned away from the sight. But as soon as the sound of footsteps replaced the moans and whimpers, he opened his eyes and slid through the shadows of the alley, rubbing his hands against the contents of his pockets.

The big one waved and took off jogging down the street.

Perfect, you idiot. If you’d stayed just another minute, you could have saved Donald.

* * * *

“Dear God, when did you start recruiting the corps from Disney’s damned dancing hippos? Do you expect me to lift her?” Harry the bastard stared right into the tiny ballerina’s face. “How did you ever get a featured position in this ballet?” He stalked to the window in high drama and gazed out, flicking his fingers toward the dancer as if someone else should take out the trash.

Don’t open your mouth, idiot. Don’t speak. Yeah, right. Val looked up. “Maybe you should spend more time in the weight room, Harry. She can’t weigh a hundred pounds.”

The other girls giggled behind their hands as Valentin Aalto draped his tattooed arms between his knees and squeezed his ballet slipper. Wish it was Hardesty’s neck. He slid the slipper onto his foot.

Hardesty turned slowly, his eyebrows threatening to join his hair in an attempt to cover his budding bald spot. “Her weight is awkward. Perhaps you’d like to lift her, Aalto?”

He’s baiting you. Don’t rise to it. Val sprang to his feet then walked to the little dancer, smiled, reached an arm into her crotch and lifted her skyward, so high she actually gasped.

The girls tittered. One sighed.

Hardesty applauded delicately.

Assholes like him give being gay a bad name. Hell, being human a bad name.

Hardesty sneered. “Just perfect—if you’re trying to get a box from the top shelf.”

“You know me, Harry. Ever practical.” He placed the girl back on the wooden floor of the practice room.

“Yes, I do know you, you pretender.”

Val took a step toward Harry with clenched fists.

“Enough!” Marshall Atwood, the dance master, clapped his hands sharply. “We’ll take a two-hour lunch while we attempt to sort out Harold’s problems with the corps. Be back here at two.” He stared fixedly at Val. “With attitude adjusted.”

Val cocked a half smile. He liked Marshall. Harry? Not so much.

He grabbed his bag and walked through the door of the rehearsal studio. In the hall, dancers gathered against the walls in clutches and the mood felt tense. The girl dancer stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

He flashed her a grin. “Better not let Hardesty see you talking to me. Seriously. It won’t be good for you.”

She shook her blonde head. “I don’t see much good coming out of this whole thing.” Her eyes glassed. “I was so excited about that solo.”

“There are other ballets. He’s not in all of them.”

She glanced up through her lashes. “I heard a rumor about a Romeo and Juliet being staged.”

“I heard that too.” He smiled.

“I heard they might have to cover a boatload of tattoos on Romeo.” She smiled and glanced at the inked animals on his biceps, crawling onto his shoulders. “I think you’ll be incredible in the role.”

“Thanks. Maybe you’d better tell me your name in case I need to recommend any solo artists in the future.”

“Wow.” She blushed. “Uh, I mean I’m Audrey Farr.” She stuck out her hand. “Happy to meet you.”

He glanced at the frowns on the dancers’ faces. “What’s going on?”

Audrey followed his gaze. “One of the boy dancers from the corps, Donnie, didn’t come back last night.”

“Too much partying?”

“Probably, but rumors are heated. Apparently, a couple dancers from smaller companies have been reported missing and one was found dead.”

“I read about that.”

“Everyone’s worried for Donnie.”

Val frowned. “I hope he’s okay.”

“Yeah.” She visibly shuddered.

He pulled his sweats from his bag, slid them on over his tights and traded the ballet slippers for flip-flops.

“Uh, are you going to grab lunch?” There was a hopeful invitation waiting to happen.

“No. I’m headed down to Broadway for a quick dance class.”

“You’re a glutton.” She cast a quick eye toward the rehearsal room door. “But we aren’t supposed to study with other teachers, are we?”

He shrugged. “I like different styles. I think they improve my dancing.” He chuckled. “Not everyone agrees.”

“Hell, you’ve got such perfect feet and turnout, nothing could mess you up.”

“Thanks, but you have good form too.”

“Hippopotamus-wise?”

“Don’t let him get you down. He’s an asshole to all of us.” He patted her slim arm. “Gotta go.”

* * * *

“This is the third one.” Though Detective Andrew Preston, NYPD, didn’t say that to anyone in particular, Jun, the coroner, who knelt beside him, nodded.

“Yes, all killed similarly. Blunt force followed by asphyxiation, which in two of the three cases has been cause of death. Then he sprinkles them with rose petals.”

Andrew wrinkled his nose against the foul smells in the alley, now punctuated by the odor of blood. He stared at the pale, white skin of the young man lying on the sidewalk, face down, his fair hair spread out like a flag. The flowers decorated his slim back and formed a halo around his head. “Seems to be his ritual.”

Ilke Jorgensen, Andrew’s partner, sighed beside him. “Crap. My first serial killer.”

“Son of Sam notwithstanding, there aren’t many of them. They just get a lot of publicity.” He glanced at Ilke. “Be prepared for a firestorm once the press gets hold of it.” He stared back at the body of Donald Fornazy, rose and tugged off his gloves, then wiped his hands with a handkerchief. “Jun, if you don’t mind, let’s keep the flower petal thing quiet.”

“Sure, Andrew.”

“Thanks.” He flipped open his notebook. “I’ll take a few notes.”

Ilke glanced at him as he pulled his pen from his pocket and sighed again.

Andrew glanced at her with a raised brow and she grinned. “I’ll just go over to that drug store and get a Coke from the vending machine while you take your few notes.” She looked at her watch. “Shall we say…fifteen minutes?”

Jun laughed as Ilke walked away, but squelched it when Andrew gave him a look. Andrew frowned. They appreciated his attention to detail when it helped solve cases, just not when it interfered with their schedules. But details solved crimes and saved lives.

Andrew knelt beside the body again, ignoring the metallic smell. He stared at the young man, who no doubt had lit up the world with his joy and artistry. We’ll make sense of this, Donald. We’ll find this maniac, take him off the streets, understand why he did this to you and others. We won’t let him hurt anyone else. He began his notations.

* * * *

After bleeding off some general pissed-offed-ness in the high-energy Broadway-style routine, Val leaped on the train to get back to NYBT, sweating lightly. A cute guy stared at him as the subway jostled its way uptown.

“You that dancer?”

Val smiled. “I’m a dancer.”

“Yeah. Some friends took me to see you dance for my birthday.” He grinned and leaned toward Val a little.

“You like ballet?”

“Nah. Never saw it before. It’s okay, but shit, man, you sure look bitchin’ in those tights.”

Val snorted. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I like your tats.”

Val pulled up the sleeve on his sweatshirt and showed off his forearm. He liked tattoo admirers. “You have any?”

“Yeah. But I’d have to get to know you better to show them off. You interested?” The guy had dimples for miles in otherwise lean cheeks. A tribal tattoo on his wrist stood out against deep caramel skin.

Val gave him a glance and a shrug. “Best offer I’ve had today.”

“I’ll bet you get a lot of offers.” The guy stepped closer.

“Some.” Cute guy. Could use a fuck. “What did you have in mind? I’m on my way back to work.”

The guy showed off his white teeth—the better to eat you with. “Back to dancing, you mean?”

“Yes. That’s my work. My stop’s coming up.”

“Give me your number.”

Stranger. Maybe not. “Nothing to write with. Tell me where you’ll be later. If I can get away, I might meet you. But if you get a better offer, feel free to bail.”

“I’ll be at Cherry’s Bar in SoHo. And I can’t imagine a better offer than you.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s JoLee, by the way.”

Val shook. Arm strong, nice. “Val.”

The train shuddered to a stop and Val moved to the door. That warm hand grasped his arm. “Hope I see you later, Val. Nine o’clock?”

Val shivered. Was it from desire? “Maybe.”

He bounded off the train, ran up the steep stairs and down the sidewalk to the large, glass entrance to NYBT. He pulled open the doors and ran up the inside stairs two at a time toward the rehearsal halls.

As he got closer to Joseph Morgenstern’s office, Val stopped. Man, must be my day for hunks. Walking out of the door of the director’s inner sanctum was a tall, auburn-haired guy in a perfectly tailored suit that definitely made Val’s cock do a samba. Gor-gee-ous! Beside the man, a tough-looking blonde woman in ill-fitting jeans and a sweatshirt with some kind of excuse for a sports coat thrown over it managed to look totally out of place in the hallowed halls of NYBT. Talk about the odd couple. She couldn’t be his wife? Could she?

Joseph walked next to the tall guy and on the woman’s other side stood Arnold Shinsky, the chairman of the board of NYBT. Definitely a power duo. The strangers must be important. Joseph waved at Val and motioned for him to wait.

Val stepped back and leaned against the wall. He might be late for rehearsal, but when Joseph said stop, he stopped. Not only did the director hold Val’s future in his hands, he was a fan, and Val needed all the supporters he could get.

Shinsky was frowning so deeply he had craters in his bulldog face. He shook his head. What he said was partly muffled but, “Shocking and appalling,” definitely came up.

What’s going on?

A hand grasped his arm and he turned into the smiling face of Willie Shinsky, Arnold’s son. The boy beamed at Val. “Hi.”

“Hi, Willie. How you doing?”

Fortunately, Willie had gotten a lot of looks from his mother, so his medium-height body wasn’t as stocky as his dad’s and his bold features came out handsome rather than froglike.

“Good.” He smiled so big it must have hurt. “Thanks for asking.”

“How’s school?”

“Great. I’m checking out colleges to see where I want to go.”

“Seen anything you like?”

He glanced toward his father. “Dad wants me to go to Harvard or Yale, but I’m thinking I might stay in the city. You know, be close to everything I, uh, like.” He flashed his brown eyes at Val.

“You studying business?”

“Yes. Or at least that’s what my dad wants.”

“What do you want?”

He shrugged. “I don’t quite know yet, so I’m going along with the program, ya know?”

Val glanced at the still-heated discussion going on across the wide hall from them. “Things are intense over there. Joseph asked me to wait, but it seems like they’re pretty involved.”

Willie lowered his voice. “It’s about the murder.”

“Murder? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, that boy from the corps. Donnie.”

“Jesus, I was hoping it was a mistake.”

“Nope. They found his body this morning in an alley.”

“Shit.”

“Did you know him?” Willie frowned. “Was he like a boyfriend of yours?”

“What? Oh no, I didn’t even know his name. One of the girls told me about it when we broke for lunch.”

Willie nodded. “Yeah, poor guy. I imagine the police will be questioning everyone about him.”

“Are those the police?”

“Yes.”

Shinsky shook hands with the tall man, nodded at the woman, who he didn’t seem to want to touch, and pointed toward the rehearsal areas. The three walked off together and Joseph waggled fingers at Val.

“Thanks for telling me, Willie.”

“Any time, Val. I’m so excited about Romeo.”

“Hey, thanks. Me too. Assuming it all happens, of course.”

He clasped Val’s arm tightly. “Oh, it will. How could anyone resist making you Romeo?”

“Thanks. Gotta go.” He turned and trotted toward Joseph. A quick glance showed Willie watching his every move.

He came up beside Joseph who waved at Willie. “My, that boy is your biggest fan.”

“I guess.”

“Never underestimate the power of a teenage crush.”

“So what’s up? I think they’re starting rehearsal soon.”

Joseph shook his head. “I’m not sure they’ve finished their conversation. Come in and sit for a second, Val.”

He walked into the large, plush office and sat in one of the upholstered guest chairs. “Willie told me about the murder.”

“Yes, truly horrifying. I’m going to institute some safety measures for our dancers. Traveling in groups, not being on the streets alone at night.”

Val leaned forward. “That’s always good advice in the city, but is there something about this killing?”

Joseph’s eyebrows drew together. “Apparently there have been other dancers killed. Not from NYBT, but still. I don’t want to take any chances. This goes for you too, Val. You’re still so young, you haven’t gotten over adolescent invincibility syndrome. I want you to be careful.”

He grinned. “Yes, sir, I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? If I’m too late to rehearsal, we won’t have to worry about a killer on the streets, Marshall will murder me.”

Joseph smiled distractedly, but the furrow between his eyebrows meant trouble and trouble only had one fucking spelling around here. H-A-R-R-Y.

“Okay, lay the shit on me.”

Joseph sighed. “Harry will leave the company if you dance Romeo.”

“Like fuck he will. Who else would take him?”

“Sadly, a lot of places.”

Val leaped from the chair and stalked across the Persian rug. “Because of the fucking bank book that goes with his arabesques?”

“Partly. The sad truth is, he’s a respectable dancer and he comes with huge financial support. Few companies can afford to pass that up.”

“And that means I’ll dance—” He waved a hand.

“Tybalt.”

“Shit, he even gets to kill me. Fuck!”

“This won’t last forever, Val. You’re barely twenty-one and you’ll have your moment to shine. You know I wanted to stage this ballet for you. Harry’s too old for the role and you’d be perfect. I was even considering letting your tattoos show.” He smiled tightly. “I’m almost as disappointed as you are because you’d have brought in new blood to our audience.” He wiped a hand across his face. “Damnation.”

Joseph never swore, but everyone made an exception for Harry Hardesty.

Val slapped the wall. It hurt good. “So I guess I’d better do some serious thinking about my future because obviously I’m going nowhere with Harry Hardon sitting in my path.” Red flashed in his vision and he took a breath trying to clear it. Not good to display his temper all over the director of the New York Ballet Theater.

“Don’t do anything rash. There aren’t many companies in the world that have the prestige of NYBT, and those that do already have established principal dancers. You’re not well enough known yet to qualify as a guest principal at other companies. You’ve got to bide your time. I promise, it will pay off in the end.”

“Yeah, well, you know how I feel about patience.” He turned, stalked into the hall and slammed the door behind him. It echoed through the high-ceilinged halls. Maybe Joseph didn’t deserve his crap, but he sure looked a lot like a lily-livered pansy right now.