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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.

CHAPTER 53

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.’

Dance laughed. ‘If they put half that energy into schoolwork.’

‘When I was a kid and supposed to take a shower, I spent more time running the water, getting a towel wet and rubbing dirt from the floor on the washcloth than if I’d just jumped in. Something about getting away with it.’

‘Did it work?’

‘Not once. But I kept trying. Oh, not to worry, I’m over shower-cheating now.’

Her mind returned to the argument she’d had with O’Neil. Her gut clenched and she felt a flash of anger. She realized that Boling was saying something else.

‘Hmm?’

‘Just goodnight.’ He kissed her cheek.

‘Night.’

Boling rolled over on his side and in a few minutes he was in enviable sleep.

Dance realized she was staring intently at the ceiling. Then she told herself to relax. But how ridiculous an order was that?

She continued to wrestle with the greater implication of O’Neil’s words, which he had not spoken to her. That if she had taken a weapon, yes, maybe they would have stopped the Solitude Creek killer today. Maybe she would have been closer to the door and seen him trying to escape.

And if anyone else died in another attack, that would be on her shoulders.

But if she had, and word had gotten back to CBI headquarters that she’d broken protocol with a pistol, it would have been the end of her involvement in the case and, more important, her secret role in the Serrano matter. She wasn’t willing to do that. Michael had to understand.

Except, obviously, he didn’t.

She, too, rolled over, back to the man beside her, hoping for prompt sleep.

It was nearly dawn before her addled mind stumbled into nonsensical thought and, finally, dreamless dark.

THE SECRETS CLUB

SUNDAY, APRIL 9

CHAPTER 54

‘Did you hear from TJ? The lead came through, got a location and we’d better move on it.’

Those words, uttered by Al Stemple, were virtually one sentence, one breath. And not a single grunt. He knew he wasn’t known for speedy anything and the fact that he was taking a let’s-go attitude with the Guzman Connection task force was meant to convey: Time’s a-wasting, boys and girls.

Carol Allerton, Jimmy Gomez and Stephen Lu were in the war room. Lu asked, ‘Lead?’

Stemple grumbled, looking at his watch, ‘Yeah, yeah. Lead to Tia Alonzo, Serrano’s skirt.’

Drawing a glance from Allerton.

Oh, please …

Lu said, ‘Where?’

Stemple wondered where Lu got his clothes. He had to have a size-thirteen neck. Tiny. His white shirt and black slacks bagged. ‘Houseboat off Moss Landing.’

‘Houseboat?’

What I said, Stemple thought.

‘She with anybody?’ Gomez asked.

‘No, just her. Was with some guy but he left, TJ said.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Kathryn’s outside. She’ll go with us. So, draw straws. Jimmy?’

‘Sure, I’ll go.’

Lu said, ‘Why don’t we all go?’

Allerton: ‘I need somebody here. I’ve got to finish these transcripts from Oakland. The prosecutor needs them in a couple of hours and I don’t think I’m going to make it. ’

Lu said, ‘Sure. I can do that. Happy to help out.’ That defined Steve Two. Somebody else might’ve said, ‘Oh, I just looooove paperwork. Can’t get enough.’ But sincerity was baked into his core. He returned to the tasks on his desk.

Gomez pulled on his tan sports jacket, checked his Glock. As if the bullets had fallen out between the last time he’d checked and now. ‘After you, Al.’

Together the men walked out into the parking lot.

Kathryn Dance was waiting.

‘Hey,’ Gomez said.

‘Jimmy.’ She nodded. And they walked toward Stemple’s cruiser.

Looking around, Dance asked, ‘Charles doesn’t know I’m here, does he? You’re sure?’

‘Not from us,’ Gomez confirmed. ‘We Fab Four took a vow of silence. Even Steve Foster’s agreed. He can be a … you know.’

‘I do.’

It was transparent, Stemple thought.

They climbed into the car. Stemple started the engine and sped west on 68, heading for Highway One, which would get them to Moss Landing in twenty minutes.

‘Who’s this Tia we’re going to see?’ Gomez asked. Then: ‘Whoa.’

Stemple never paid much attention to speed limits.

Dance said, ‘Tia Alonzo. Use to be an exotic dancer.’

‘Love that. “Exotic”.’

‘And model. Wannabe, of course. Serrano met her at a party and they, well, kept up partying for a month or two. It ended but they hook up occasionally. TJ found Tia’s gotten a couple of texts from Serrano lately. He’s checking her sheet now, seeing if there’s any paper we can use to leverage her into helping us. Or maybe she’ll just cooperate. Out of the goodness of her heart.’

Now, yeah, Stemple grunted.

A real houseboat.

Rundown but Al Stemple liked it.

About forty feet long, fifteen wide, a squat whitewashed structure on top of pontoons.

Wouldn’t mind something like that.

Moss Landing was a stretch of marinas, shops and restaurants scattered along a sandy road that paralleled Highway One. The houseboat was anchored in a secluded area of docks. In its heyday, the years of plentiful fish, the Steinbeck years, this spot had been home to hundreds of fiftyand sixty-foot fishing boats. No longer. Some pleasure craft, a few small fishing operations – party boats and commercial – and then, like here, a houseboat or two.

Stemple parked about a hundred feet from the place. The three CBI agents climbed from the car and slowly made their way toward the boat. A beat-up Toyota was parked in the weed-filled lot in front of the vessel. Or house. Or whatever.

‘One car only. But doesn’t mean she’s alone.’ Stemple made a fast security sweep. And returned. ‘Looks good to me.’

Dance regarded her phone. She said to Gomez, ‘TJ. He’s telling me no paper on Alonzo. Yellow sheet – lewd and lascivious, prostitution, public drunkenness. Years ago. She’s been a good girl since.’

‘Nothing violent, then.’

‘Nup. But we have to assume she’s armed.’

Gomez said, ‘And you’re not, right?’

‘Nope. Stay close, Jimmy.’

‘Oh, I will.’

‘And, Al, don’t watch the perimeter.’

‘Gotcha.’

They approached the boat, which was called the Lazy Mary. Stemple didn’t like the name. Wasn’t elegant. If he had a houseboat, he’d call it something like Diamond Stud. No, too tacky. Home of the Brave. Good. He liked it.

Near shore was a breakwater, so the occasionally ornery Monterey Bay waters didn’t intrude here. Today the Lazy Mary rose and fell, Stemple decided, lazily.

Gomez glanced at Dance, who nodded and said, ‘Let’s do it.’

They walked over a short gangplank and onto the deck, painted gray, scabby. Gomez knocked on the door.

It opened and they stepped inside.

Stemple looked out over the marina, adjusted his Beretta on his wide hip and crossed his arms.

CHAPTER 55

Fifteen minutes later Gomez, Stemple and Dance were driving back to headquarters.

She called the task force and got Carol Allerton.

‘It’s Kathryn. You’re on speaker here with Jimmy and Al.’

‘You’re speakered as well. Steve Foster’s back. And Steve Two, too.’ Uncharacteristic humor from a DEA agent.

‘Steve and Steve,’ Dance said.

‘Hi, Kathryn.’ Lu, of course, since the greeting sounded warm.

‘Yeah?’ A gruff voice. Did Foster ever utter a cheerful syllable?

‘We just left Moss Landing,’ Dance said.

‘And?’ Foster grumbled.

‘Tia Alonzo hasn’t seen Serrano for a month. I believed her.’

Silence from Foster now. He didn’t say what he wanted to.

Dance continued, ‘But she gave up another name. Pete or Pedro Escalanza. TJ’s going to track it down. Ninety percent the guy’s got Serrano’s present whereabouts.’

‘Lead to a lead to a lead,’ Foster said, with buoyant cynicism.

Allerton asked, ‘So, at the houseboat. It was productive.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you’re okay. Jimmy’s okay?’

‘I’m good,’ Gomez said.

‘Tia was saying this Escalanza, he’s got access to some of Serrano’s accounts. If we play it right, we might be able to pick up his credit-card numbers, track him in real time.’

‘Or maybe we’ll find another lead,’ Foster chimed in. ‘Let’s be transparent here. I’m not overly reassured.’

Stemple coughed.

Dance said, ‘The best we could do, Steve.’

Allerton said, ‘I’ll tell Charles.’

‘Thanks.’

‘We’re coming back in.’ Dance disconnected.

Stemple said, ‘Life’s a fucking checkers game. No, chess. You play chess, Jimmy?’

‘No. You?’

‘Yeah, I play chess.’

‘Really?’ Gomez asked.

‘Why really? Because I bench-press three hundred and group my rounds touching at fifty feet – if I’m using the long barrel?’

‘I don’t know. You just don’t seem like a chess player.’

‘Mostly people think I tap dance for a hobby.’

In a half-hour, eleven a.m., she was back in CBI headquarters, making for Overby’s office, in the company of TJ Scanlon.

As they walked along, she checked her phone again. Texts from her mother, Boling. Maggie, silly and happy – because, of course, she’d been pardoned from the cruel and unusual punishment of singing in her class’s talent show.

Nothing from O’Neil.

Did she expect an apology? The hard words had been motivated by his concern for her but she’d found them patronizing. That was difficult for her to get past.