Jeffery Deaver - Roadside Crosses

They talked about her children, about their own childhoods. Where they were from originally. Boling commented that he believed only twenty percent of the Central Coast population comprised native Californians.

Silence flowed between them again. Dance sensed his shoulders rising and was expecting what came next.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She meant it, no reservations.

"When did your husband die?"

"About two years ago."

Two years, two months, three weeks. She could give him the days and hours too.

"I've never lost anybody. Not like that." Though there was a wistfulness in his voice, and his eyelids flickered like venetian blinds troubled by the wind. "What happened, you mind if I ask?"

"Not at all. Bill was an FBI agent, assigned to the local resident agency. But it wasn't work-related. An accident on Highway One. A truck. The driver fell asleep." A wisp of a laugh. "You know, I never thought about it until just now. But his fellow agents and friends put flowers by the roadside for about a year after it happened."

"A cross?"

"No, just flowers." She shook her head. "God, I hated that. The reminder. I'd drive miles out of my way to avoid the place."

"Must've been terrible."

Dance tried not to practice her skills as a kinesics expert when she was out socially. Sometimes she'd read the kids, sometimes she'd read a date. But she remembered when she'd caught Wes in some minor lie and he grumbled, "It's like you're Superman, Mom. You've got X-ray word vision." Now she was aware that, although Boling's face kept its sympathetic smile, his body language had subtly changed. The grip on his wineglass stem tightened. On his free hand, fingers rubbed compulsively. Behaviors she knew he wasn't even aware of.

Dance just needed to prime the pump. "Come on, Jon. Your turn to spill. What's your story? You've been pretty vague on the bachelor topic."

"Oh, nothing like your situation."

He was minimizing something that hurt, she could see that. She wasn't even a therapist, let alone his. But they'd spent some time under fire and she wanted to know what was troubling him. She touched his arm briefly. "Come on. Remember, I interrogate people for a living. I'll get it out of you sooner or later."

"I never go out with somebody who wants to waterboard me on the first date. Well, depending."

Jon Boling, Dance had come to realize, was a man who used clever quips as armor.

He continued, "This is the worst soap opera you'll ever hear… The girl I met after leaving Silicon Valley? She ran a bookstore in Santa Cruz. Bay Beach Books?"

"I think I've been there."

"We hit it off real well, Cassie and I. Did a lot of outdoor things together. Had some great times traveling. She even survived some visits to my family-well, actually it's only me who has trouble surviving those." He thought for a minute. "I think the thing is that we laughed a lot. That's a clue. What kind of movies do you like best? We watched comedies mostly. Okay, she was separated, not divorced. Legal separation. Cassie was completely honest about it. I knew it all up front. She was getting the paperwork together."

"Children?"

"She had two, yes. Boy and girl like you. Great kids. Split the time between her and her ex."

You mean, her not-quite-ex, Dance corrected silently, and, of course, knew the arc of the story.

He sipped some more of the cold, crisp wine. A breeze had come up and as the sun melted, the temperature fell. "Her ex was abusive. Not physically; he never hurt her or the kids, but he'd insult her, put her down." He gave an astonished laugh. " This wasn't right, that wasn't right. She was smart, kind, thoughtful. But he just kept dumping on her. I was thinking about this last night." His voice faded at that comment, having just given away a bit of data he wished he hadn't. "He was an emotional serial killer."

"That's a good way to put it."

"And naturally she went back to him." His face was still for a moment as he relived a specific incident, she supposed. Our hearts rarely respond to the abstract; it's the tiny slivers of sharp memory that sting so. Then the facade returned in the form of a tight-lipped smile. "He got transferred to China, and they went with him, Cassie and the kids. She said she was sorry, she'd always love me, but she had to go back to him… Never quite got the obligatory part in relationships. Like, you have to breathe, you have to eat…but staying with a jerk? I don't get the necessary. But here I am going on about…oh, shall we say an 'epic' bad call on my part, and you had a real tragedy."

Dance shrugged. "In my line of work, whether it's murder or manslaughter or criminally negligent homicide, a death's still a death. Just like love; when it goes away, for whatever reason, it hurts all the same."

"I guess. But all I'll say is it's a real bad idea to fall in love with somebody who's married."

Amen , thought Kathryn Dance again, and nearly laughed out loud. She tipped a touch more wine into her glass.

"How 'bout that," he said.

"What?"

"We've managed to bring up two extremely personal and depressing topics in a very short period of time. Good thing we're not on a date," he added with a grin.

Dance opened the menu. "Let's get some food. They have-"

"-the best calamari burgers in town here," Boling said.

She laughed. She'd been about to say exactly the same.

THE COMPUTER SEARCH was a bust.

She and the professor returned from their squid and salads to her office, both eager to see what Irv's bot had found. Boling sat down, scrolled through the file and announced with a sigh, "Zip."

"Nothing?"

"He just deleted those emails and files and research to save space. Nothing secretive, and nothing local at all."

The frustration was keen, but there was nothing more to do. "Thanks, Jon. At least I got a nice dinner out of it."

"Sorry." He looked truly disappointed that he couldn't be of more help. "I guess I better finish up grading those papers. And pack."

"That's right, your family reunion's this weekend."

He nodded. A tight smile and he said, "Woooo-hoooo," with forced enthusiasm.

Dance laughed.

He hovered near her. "I'll call you when I get back. I want to know how things work out. And good luck with Travis. I hope he's okay."

"Thanks, Jon. For everything." She took his hand and gripped it firmly. "And I especially appreciate your not getting stabbed to death."

A smile. He squeezed her hand and turned away.

As she watched him walk down the corridor a woman's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Hey, K."

Dance turned to see Connie Ramirez, walking down the hallway toward her.

"Con."

The other senior agent looked around and nodded toward Dance's office. Then stepped inside, closing the door. "Found a few things I thought you might be interested in. From the hospital."

"Oh, thanks, Con. How'd you do it?"

Ramirez considered this. "I was deceptively honest."

"I like that."

"I flashed my shield and gave them some details of another case I'm running. That medical fraud case."

The CBI investigated financial crimes too. And the case Ramirez was referring to was a major insurance scam-the perps used identification numbers of doctors who were deceased to file bogus claims in their names.

It was the sort of thing, Dance reflected, that Chilton himself might write about in his blog. And it was a brilliant choice for Connie; staffers at the hospital were among the victims, and would have an interest in helping investigators.

"I asked them to show me the log-in sheets. The whole month's worth, so Henry didn't get suspicious. They were more than happy to comply. And here's what I found: The day Juan Millar died there was one visiting physician-the hospital has a continuing-ed lecture series and he was probably there for that. There were also six job applicants-two for maintenance spots, one for the cafeteria and three nurses. I've got copies of their résumés. None of them look suspicious to me.