Solitude Creek (Kathryn Dance 4)

The doorbell rang.

Boling frowned.

Dance hesitated. Then: "Oh, that'd be Michael. He's running Solitude Creek with me. Didn't I tell you he was coming over?"

"I don't think so."

"Been a crazy day, sorry."

"No worries."

She opened the door and Michael O'Neil walked inside.

"Hey, Michael."

"Jon." The men shook hands.

"Have some food. Greek. Got plenty left."

"No thanks."

"Come on," Boling persisted. "Kathryn can't eat moussaka for a week."

She noted that he didn't say "We can't eat moussaka," though he might have. But Boling wasn't a chest-thumping territory staker.

O'Neil said, "Sure, it's not too much trouble."

"Wine?"

"Beer."

"Done."

Boling prepared a plate and passed him a Corona. O'Neil lifted the bottle in thanks, then hung his sports jacket on a hook. He rarely wore a uniform and tonight was in khaki slacks and a light gray shirt. He sat on a kitchen chair, adjusting his Glock.

Dance had known and worked with O'Neil for years. The chief deputy and senior detective for the Monterey County Sheriff's Office had been a mentor when Dance had joined the Bureau; her background wasn't law enforcement. She'd been a for-hire kinesics expert, helping attorneys and prosecutors pick juries and providing expert testimony. After her husband's death--Bill Swenson had been an FBI agent--she'd decided to become a cop.

O'Neil had been with the MCSO for years and, with his intelligence and dogged nature (not to mention enviable arrest and conviction record), he could have gone anywhere but he chose to stay local. O'Neil's home was the Monterey Peninsula and he had no desire to be anywhere else. Family kept him close and so did the bay. He loved boats and fishing. He could easily have been a protagonist in a John Steinbeck novel: quiet, solid of build, strong arms, brown eyes beneath dipping lids. His hair was thick and cut short, brown with abundant gray.

He waved to Wes.

"Hey, Michael!"

Donnie too turned. The boy exhibited the fascination youngsters always did with the armament on the hip of a law officer. He whispered something to Wes, who nodded with a smile, and they turned their attention to the game. O'Neil asked to say hello to Maggie but apparently the girl had vanished into her room.

O'Neil took the plate, ate some. "Thanks. Okay, this is excellent."

They tapped bottle and glasses. Dance wasn't hungry but gave in to a few bits of pita with tzatziki.

She said, "I didn't know if you could make it tonight. With the kids." O'Neil had two children from a prior marriage, Amanda and Tyler, nine and ten. They were good friends with Dance's youngsters--though Maggie more, because of the age proximity.

"Somebody's watching them," he said.

"New sitter?"

"Sort of."

Footsteps approached. It was Donnie Verso. He nodded to O'Neil and said to Dance, "Um, I really better be getting home. I didn't know it was this late."