The Sleeping Doll (Kathryn Dance 1)

in both hands. He looked up at a cliff and seemed to be debating climbing it. But the walls were steep and Kellogg was in street shoes, impractical for the slippery stone. Besides, he'd undoubtedly be an easy target climbing down the other side.

Looking back to the path in front of him he seemed to notice marks in the sand, where she'd seen Pell. He crouched and moved closer to them. He paused at an outcropping.

"What's going on?" Samantha asked.

Dance shook her head.

She looked down at Linda. The woman was half-conscious and paler than before. She'd lost a lot of blood. She'd need emergency treatment soon.

Dance called MCSO central and asked for the status of the troops.

"First tac responders in five minutes, boats in fifteen."

Dance sighed. Why was it taking the cavalry so damn long? She gave them her approximate position and explained how the med techs should approach, to stay out of the line of fire. Dance glanced out again and saw Winston Kellogg ease around the rock, glistening burgundy in the low sun. The agent was heading directly toward the spot where she'd seen Pell vanish a few minutes earlier.

A long minute passed. Two.

Where was he? What--

The boom of an explosion.

What the hell was that?

Then a series of gunshots from behind the outcropping, a pause, then several more pistol cracks.

"What happened?" Samantha called.

"I don't know." Dance pulled her radio out. "Win. Win! Are you there? Over."

But the only sounds she heard over the rush of the waves were the edgy cries of the frightened, fleeing gulls.

Chapter 56

Kathryn Dance hurried along the beach, her Aldo shoes, among her favorites, ruined by the salt water.

She didn't care.

Behind her, back on the ridge, medical technicians were trundling Linda to the ambulance parked at the Point Lobos Inn, Samantha with her. She nodded to two MCSO officers ringing yellow tape from rock to rock, though the only intruder to trouble the crime scene would be the rising tide. Dance ducked under the plastic tape and turned the corner, continuing to the scene of the death.

Dance paused. Then walked straight up to Winston Kellogg and hugged him. He seemed shaken and kept staring at what lay in front of them: the body of Daniel Pell.

He was on his back, his sand-stained knees in the air, arms out to the sides. His pistol lay nearby where it had flown from his hand. Pell's eyes were partly open, intensely blue no longer, but hazy in death.

Dance realized that her hand remained on Kellogg's back. She dropped it and stepped aside. "What happened?" she asked.

"I nearly walked right into him. He was hiding there." He pointed out a stand of rocks. "But I saw him just in time. I got under cover. I had one of the flash-bangs left from the motel. I pitched it his way and it stunned him. He started shooting. But I was lucky. The sun was behind me. Blinded him, I guess. I returned fire. And . . ." He shrugged.

"You're okay?"

"Oh, sure. Little scraped up from the rocks. Not used to mountain climbing."

Her phone rang. She answered, glancing at the screen. It was TJ.

"Linda's going to be fine. Lost some blood, but the slug missed the important stuff. Oh, and Samantha's not hurt bad."

"Samantha?" Dance hadn't noticed the woman was injured. "What happened?"

"Cuts and bruises is all. Had a boxing match with the deceased, prior to his deceasing, of course. She's hurting but she'll be peachy."