The Sleeping Doll (Kathryn Dance 1)

"No, we're fine. But one of Michael's detectives is burned. Bad. There was an arson at the courthouse, part of an escape. You'll hear about it on the news. We lost two guards."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Edie murmured.

"The detective--Juan Millar's his name. You've met him a couple of times."

"I don't remember. He's on his way here?"

"Will be soon. Medevac."

"That bad?"

"You have a burn unit?"

"A small one, part of ICU. For long term we'd get him to Alta Bates, U.C.-Davis or Santa Clara as soon as we could. Maybe down to Grossman."

"Could you check in on him from time to time? Let me know how he's doing?"

"Of course, Katie."

"And if there's any way, I want to talk to him. Whatever he saw, it could be helpful."

"Sure."

"I'll be tied up for the day, even if we catch him right away. Could you have Dad pick up the kids?" Stuart Dance, a retired marine biologist, worked occasionally at the famous Monterey aquarium, but was always available to chauffeur the children whenever needed.

"I'll call right now."

"Thanks, Mom."

Dance disconnected and glanced up to see Prosecutor Alonzo Sandoval staring numbly at the map. "Who was helping him?" he muttered. "And where the fuck is Pell?"

Variations of these two questions were also spinning through Kathryn Dance's mind.

Along with another: What could I have done to read him better? What could I have done to avoid this tragedy altogether?

Chapter 5

The helicopter in the parking lot directed swirls of smoke outward in elegant patterns as the blades groaned and the aircraft lifted off, bearing Juan Millar to the hospital.

Vaya con Dios . . .

Dance got a call. Glanced at the phone screen. She was surprised it had taken so long for the man to get back to her. "Charles," she said to her boss, the agent in charge of the west-central regional office of the CBI.

"I'm on my way to the courthouse. What've we got, Kathryn?"

She brought him up to date, including the deaths and Millar's condition.

"Sorry to hear that. . . . Any leads, anything we can tell them?"

"Tell who?"

"The press."

"I don't know, Charles. We don't have much information. He could be anywhere. I've ordered roadblocks and we're doing a room-by-room search."

"Nothing specific? Not even a direction?"

"No."