Solitude Creek (Kathryn Dance 4)

Dance considered just throwing a robe on but opted for a shower. She slipped into the bathroom and, when out, dressed in jeans and a pink work shirt while Boling, looking a bit uneasy, brushed his teeth. He too dressed.

"Okay," he said slowly.

"No."

"No?" he asked.

"You were looking at the window. You can't jump out of it. You're going to come downstairs with me and we'll have my famous French toast. I only make it on special occasions."

"Is this special?"

She didn't answer. She kissed him fast.

He said, "All right. Let's go see the kids."

As it turned out, however, it wasn't just the kids that Dance and Boling saw.

As they walked to the bottom of the stairs and into the kitchen, Dance nearly ran into Michael O'Neil, who was holding a glass of orange juice and walking to the table.

"Oh," she whispered.

"'Morning. Hi, Jon."

"Michael."

O'Neil, his face completely neutral, said, "Wes let me in. I tried to call but your phone was off."

She'd shut it off intentionally before easing into bed, not wanting to risk a call--that is, risk hearing O'Neil's ringtone, an Irish ballad, courtesy of the kids--at a moment like that. She'd fallen asleep before turning it back on. Careless. Unprofessional.

"I--" she began but could think of not a single syllable to utter past that.

Dance glanced toward the busy bees hard at work on breakfast. "Hi, Mom!" Maggie said. "There was this show on TV about badgers and there's this one kind, a honey badger, and this bird called a honeyguide leads it to a beehive and a badger rips it open and eats honey and its coat is so thick it doesn't get stung. Hi, Jon."

As if he'd lived here for years.

Wes, on his phone, nodded a cheerful greeting with a smile to both mother and boyfriend.

Dance and Maggie went to work, wrangling breakfast--including honey for the French toast, of course. Dance glanced toward Wes. "Who?" she whispered, nodding at the phone.

"Donnie."

"Say hi for me and then hang up."

Wes said hi, kept talking, then under her gaze clicked off.

O'Neil, who may very well have spent the night with Ms. Ex-O'Neil, kept his eyes on the juice. From his solid frame, a dozen kinesic messages were firing like cylinders in a sports car.

Or a white SUV, made by the Lexus division of Toyota Motors.

Enough, she told herself.

Let it go...

Boling made coffee. "Michael?" Lifting a cup.

"Sure." Then he added to Dance, "Something's come up. That's what I was trying to get in touch with you about."

"Solitude Creek?"