Jeffery Deaver - Roadside Crosses

Without a moment's hesitation, Lily said, "No, I'm staying with you."

Dance noted the look. Adoration, contentment, resolve…Her own heart flipped as she thought, He lost his first spouse, recovered and found love again.

It can happen, Dance thought. See?

Then she closed the door on her own life.

"All right," she agreed reluctantly. "But you're leaving here right now. Find a hotel and stay there, stay out of sight. And we're going to put a guard on you."

"That's fine."

It was then that a car screeched to a stop in front of the house, a voice shouting in alarm. She and Carraneo stepped out onto the porch.

"S'okay," Albert Stemple said, his voice a lazy drawl, minus the Southern accent. "Only Chilton."

The blogger had apparently heard the news and hurried over. He raced up the steps. "What happened?" Dance was surprised to hear panic in his voice. She'd detected anger, pettiness, arrogance earlier, but never this sound. "Are they all right?"

"Fine," she said. "Travis was here, but Donald's fine. His wife too."

"What happened?" The collar of the blogger's jacket was askew.

Hawken and Lily stepped outside. "Jim!"

Chilton ran forward and embraced his friend. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes. The police got here in time."

"Did you catch him?" Chilton asked.

"No," Dance said, expecting Chilton to launch into criticism for their not capturing the boy. But he took her hand firmly and gripped it. "Thank you, thank you. You saved them. Thank you."

She nodded awkwardly and released his hand. Then Chilton turned to Lily with a smile of curiosity.

Dance deduced that they'd never met before, not in person. Hawken introduced them now and Chilton gave Lily a warm embrace. "I'm so sorry about this. I never, not in a million years, thought it would affect you."

"Who would have?" Hawken asked.

With a rueful smile, Chilton said to his friend, "With an introduction to the Monterey Peninsula like this, she's not going to want to stay. She's going to move back tomorrow."

Lily finally cracked a fragile smile. "I would. Except we've already bought the drapes." A nod at the house.

Chilton laughed. "She's funny, Don. Why doesn't she stay and you go back to San Diego?"

"Afraid you're stuck with both of us."

Chilton then grew serious. "You have to leave until this is over."

Dance said, "I've been trying to talk them into that."

"We're not leaving."

"Don-" Chilton began.

But Hawken laughed, nodding at Dance. "I have police permission. She agreed. We're going to hide out in a hotel. Like Bonnie and Clyde."

"But-"

"No buts, buddy. We're here. You can't get rid of us now."

Chilton opened his mouth to object, but then noted Lily's wry grin. She said, "You don't want to be telling this girl what to do, Jim."

The blogger gave another laugh and said, "Fair enough. Thank you. Get to a hotel. Stay there. In a day or two this'll all be over with. Things'll get back to normal."

Hawken said, "I haven't seen Pat and the boys since I left. Over three years."

Dance eyed the blogger. Something else about him was different. Her impression was that she was seeing for the first time his human side, as if this near-tragedy had pulled him yet further from the synth world into the real.

The crusader was, at least temporarily, absent.

She left them to their reminiscences and walked around back. A voice from the bushes startled her. "Hello."

She looked behind her to see the young deputy who'd been helping them out, David Reinhold.

"Deputy."

He grinned. "Call me David. I heard he was here. You almost nailed him."

"Close. Not close enough."

He was carrying several battered metal suitcases, stenciled with MCSO-CSU on the side. "Sorry I couldn't tell anything for certain about those branches in your backyard-that cross."

"I couldn't tell either. Probably it was just a fluke. If I trimmed the trees like I should, it never would've happened."

His bright eyes glanced her way. "You have a nice house."

"Thanks. Despite the messy backyard."

"No. It's real comfortable-looking."

She asked the deputy, "And how 'bout you, David? You live in Monterey?"

"I did. Had a roommate, but he left, so I had to move to Marina."

"Well, appreciate your efforts. I'll put in a good word with Michael O'Neil."

"Really, Kathryn? That'd be great." He glowed.

Reinhold turned away and began cordoning off the backyard. Dance stared at what was in the center of the yellow tape trapezoid: the cross etched into the dirt and the sprinkling of petals.

From there, her eyes rose and took in the sweeping decline from the heights of Monterey down to the bay, where a sliver of water could be seen.

It was a panoramic view, beautiful.

But today it seemed as disturbing as the terrible mask of Qetzal, the demon in DimensionQuest.

You're out there somewhere, Travis.

Where, where?

Tracking down Travis the way Jack Bauer chased terrorists.

Jon Boling had a lead: the possible location from which Travis had sent the blog posting of the mask drawing and the horrific stabbing of the woman who looked a bit like Kathryn Dance. The place where the boy would be playing his precious DimensionQuest.

The "hours of operation" he'd found in the ghostly corridors of Travis's computer referred to Lighthouse Arcade, a video and computer gaming center in New Monterey.

The boy would be taking a risk going out in public, of course, considering the manhunt. But if he picked his routes carefully, wore sunglasses and a cap and something other than the hoodie the TV reports were depicting him in, well, he could probably move around with some freedom.

Besides, when it came to online gaming and Morpegs, an addict had no choice but to risk detection.

Boling piloted his Audi off the highway and onto Del Monte then Lighthouse and headed into the neighborhood where the arcade was located.

He was enjoying a certain exhilaration. Here he was, a forty-one-year-old professor, who lived largely by his brain. He'd never thought of himself as suffering from an absence of bravery. He'd done some rock climbing, scuba diving, downhill skiing. Then too, the world of ideas carried risk of harm-to careers and reputations and contentment. He'd battled it out with fellow professors. He also had been a victim of vicious online attacks, much like those against Travis, though with better spelling, grammar and punctuation. Most recently he'd been attacked for taking a stand against file sharing of copyrighted material.

He hadn't expected the viciousness of the attacks. He was trounced…called a "fucking capitalist," a "bitch whore of big business." Boling particularly liked "professor of mass destruction."

Some colleagues actually stopped talking to him.

But the harm he'd experienced, of course, was nothing compared with what Kathryn Dance and her fellow officers risked day after day.

And which he himself was now risking, he reflected.

Playing cop…

Boling realized that he'd been helpful to Kathryn and the others. He was pleased about that and pleased at their recognition of his contribution. But being so close to the action, hearing the phone calls, watching Kathryn's face as she took down information about the crimes, seeing her hand absently stroke the black gun on her hip…he felt a longing to participate.

And anything else, Jon? he wryly asked himself.

Well, okay, maybe he was trying to impress her.

Absurd, but he'd felt a bit of jealousy seeing her and Michael O'Neil connect.

You're acting like a goddamn teenager.

Still, something about her lit the fuse. Boling had never been able to explain it-who could, really?-when that connection occurred. And it happened fast or never. Dance was single, he was too. He'd gotten over Cassie (okay, pretty much over); was Kathryn getting close to dating again? He believed he'd gotten a few signals from her. But what did he know? He had none of her skill-body language.