The dismissive shrug that Dance knew oh so well. “Jim dropped everything; he was at my door within the hour. He stayed by me and the children for a week. Helped us and Sarah’s family with everything. Food, the funeral arrangements. He even took turns with the housework and laundry. I was paralyzed. I just couldn’t do anything. I think he might’ve saved my life back then. He certainly saved my sanity.” Again Dance couldn’t suppress the memories of the months after her own spouse’s death—when Martine Christensen, much like Chilton, had been there for her. Dance would never have hurt herself, not with the children, but there were plenty of times when, yes, she thought she might go mad. She understood Donald Hawken’s loyalty. “I’m not leaving,” the man repeated firmly. “There’s no point in asking.” Then he hugged his wife. “But you go back. I want you to leave.” 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?