Jeffery Deaver - Solitude Creek

‘Always a plus.’

‘Thanks, Jon.’

‘The kids’ve eaten. We’ve got plenty of leftover leftovers. Why don’t you stay for dinner?’

‘No, thanks,’ O’Neil said. ‘We’ve got plans at home.’

‘Sure.’

Boling gave a friendly nod. ‘See you later, Michael.’

‘Night.’

O’Neil said to Dance, ‘Overby’s at eleven. See you then.’ He walked back to the car.

Dance put her hand on the door knob. Released it. Turned and strode to the car before he’d gotten in. She looked up into his dark eyes; she was not a short woman but O’Neil was six inches taller.

‘Anything else?’ O’Neil asked.

Which was exactly the wrong thing to say.

‘Actually, Michael, there is.’

They rarely used each other’s first names. This was a shot across the bow. ‘I want to know what’s on your mind. And if you say, “Nothing,” I’m probably going to scream.’

‘Been a long day.’

‘That’s as much of a screamer as a man saying, “Nothing.”’

‘Didn’t know that’s a gender issue.’

‘You’re right. But you ’re the one acting out here.’

‘Acting out.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, if I’m pissed off, it’s because this hasn’t been the most successful operation on record. Losing the perp is one thing. But we also got an officer wounded down there.’

‘And that was unfortunate. But we didn’t get him shot. He got himself shot by not being aware of his surroundings. Basic street procedures, and I’m not even a street cop. But come on. No bullshit. Tell me.’

The jaw and tongue form an obvious configuration to make the nasal occlusive sound — that is, a word beginning with the consonant n . O’Neil’s face was clearly forming it, a preface to the word nothing . Instead he said, ‘You’re making a mistake.’

‘Mistake?’

‘Okay. The truth?’

As opposed to what? she thought, and lifted an ironic eyebrow.

‘The Guzman Connection, Serrano.’

This surprised her. She was sure he’d been upset to find Jon Boling had spent the night.

‘How do you mean? What about Serrano?’

‘I don’t like you involved, not the way you’re handling it.’

This was news to her. O’Neil wasn’t involved in either Operation Pipeline or the subset, the Guzman Connection and the Serrano matter.

‘Why?’

‘I just don’t.’

As if that told her anything. She sighed.

‘Let somebody else run it.’

‘Who? I’m the only one.’

This wasn’t completely accurate, and his silence called her on the matter. She was angry that she felt defensive. ‘I want to run it.’

‘I heard you with TJ. The Serrano thing tomorrow. You’re going along.’

‘That’s the whole point, Michael.’

‘Al’s going to be there.’

‘Why not a whole team?’

‘Because that’ll set off alarms.’

‘And what if some banger finds out you’re in Motel Six with one of his boys and he sends in a team of shooters?’

‘I’ve thought about that. It’s an acceptable risk.’

‘Oh, define that.’

‘Michael.’

‘Just take a weapon. That’s all I’m saying.’

Oh, so that’s what this was about. ‘I’m Civ Div, and I—’

‘You are not. You’re full investigative. That’s the way you’re acting, at least.’

‘Well, I can’t have a gun. Procedures. There’s no alternative.’

‘Take one anyway. A Bodyguard, a Nano. I’ll give you one of mine.’

‘It’s a breach of—’

‘It’s only a breach if you get caught.’

‘And getting caught could ruin everything.’

‘Okay, Serrano’s your priority. You want to play that out, fine.’

Like he was giving her permission.

‘Then give up Solitude Creek. I’ll run it with my people. Coordinate with TJ and Rey. Even bring Connie Ramirez in.’ His voice was raw, like a purple line of storm cloud moving in. He added, ‘CBI’ll get full credit.’

She scoffed, ‘You think I care about that?’

His eyes looked away, answering: No, of course not. His comment had been a reflexive jab.

‘Michael, I can’t give the case up. Simple as that.’

‘Why not?’

Because she couldn’t.

He persisted, ‘Tonight, at the Goldschmidt house, you weren’t even supposed to be canvassing. You were supposed to stay at the scene.’

‘“ Supposed to”?’ Her voice was raw.

‘And I find out you’re down near Junipero Manor, with the perps? You should’ve called me first. If they’d stayed around, they might have had something else in mind — nailing the law that’s after them, for instance. Some neo-Nazi assholes, who cart around Glock forties?’

O’Neil continued, ‘Or in Tustin today, if the unsub had turned right coming out of Prescott’s apartment, after shooting the deputy, not left, he would’ve run right up on you.’

‘We didn’t know he was there. We were going to talk to a witness.’

‘We never know what direction a case’ll take.’

‘You want me to sit in a room and talk my suspects into confessing on Skype? It doesn’t work that way, Michael.’

‘Remember your kids.’

‘Don’t bring my children into this,’ she snapped.

‘Somebody has to,’ he muttered, in his infuriatingly calm, though ominous, tone. ‘Nailing the Solitude Creek unsub, Kathryn? It doesn’t have to be you.’ He dropped into the front seat of the car, fired it up.

O’Neil didn’t skid angrily out of the driveway — he wasn’t that way. On the other hand, neither did he stop, reverse and return to apologize.

She watched the taillights until they disappeared in the fog.

It doesn’t have to be you...

Except, Michael, yes, it does.

Wes was in bed, texting, when she went in to say good night.

‘Hey.’

‘Hi,’ he replied.

‘Got home late, I heard.’

‘Yeah. Flat tire. Had to leave my bike at Donnie’s.’

‘You didn’t call for a ride? Jon could’ve picked you up.’

‘Yeah, well. I was bummed about Karen. The dance. She’s going with Randy.’

True, not true? It seemed deceptive. But after this impossible day, her kinesic skills weren’t firing on all cylinders. Besides, it would exhaust and alarm you to analyze everything children said.

She didn’t push. ‘When you say you’ll be home in fifteen, you’ll be home in fifteen. There’ll be consequences if this happens again.’

‘Yeah. Okay.’

‘Helmets?’

‘Yeah, Mom. Helmets.’

‘Night.’ She kissed him.

Into the next bedroom.

‘Mags?’

Maggie was asleep. Dance tucked the blankets around her and latched her window. Kissed her head.

At close to midnight she and Boling walked upstairs to her bedroom. He had here a set of clothes in a gym bag, which represented a tentative escalation in their relationship. This was fine with her: some clothes, not wardrobes’ worth.

No rush...

She showered and dressed in PJs and crawled into bed next to him. They lay thigh to thigh, and she sensed he was ready to talk about her day if she wished but wasn’t going to push it. Thank you, she thought silently, and squeezed his hand as a gesture of the thought, which she knew he understood. She wondered if he’d heard the argument between her and Michael O’Neil.

She asked, ‘How’s Mags doing?’

‘I kept an eye on the Skype session with the Secrets Club gang. Bethany’s quite the young lady. I expect to see her as the head of the State Department in a few years. The White House is an option too. I think they were using codes. I couldn’t figure them out. Like they’ve created their own language.’