Where do we go from here? Dance thought. If she could hover over herself, looking down as a kinesic analyst, what was her body language saying? She was, on the one hand, deeply moved by the news. On the other, she was as cautious as a war-zone soldier approaching a roadside package.

The appeal of a trip with Michael O'Neil was almost overwhelming.

Yet the answer, of course, could not be yes. For one thing, O'Neil needed to be there for his children, completely there, one hundred percent there. They might not--should not--have been told about their parents' problems at this point. Yet they would know something. Children's intuition is a primary force of nature.

But there was another reason for Dance and O'Neil not to share personal time in Los Angeles.

And, coincidentally, it appeared just now.

"Hello?" called a man's voice from the side yard.

Dance held Michael O'Neil's eye, gave a tight smile and called, "Up here. In the back."

More footsteps on the stairs and Jonathan Boling joined them. He gave a smile to O'Neil and the two men shook hands. Like Dance, he was in jeans. His knit shirt was black, under a Lands' End windbreaker. He wore hiking boots.

"I'm a little early."

"Not a problem."

O'Neil was smart, and more, he was savvy. Dance could see that he understood instantly. His first reaction was dismay that he'd put her in a difficult position.

His eyes offered a sincere apology.

And hers insisted that none was necessary.

O'Neil was amused too and gave Dance a smile not unlike the one they'd shared when last year they'd heard on the car radio the Sondheim song "Send in the Clowns," about potential lovers who just can't seem to get together.

Timing, they both knew, was everything.

Dance said evenly, "Jonathan and I are going to Napa for the weekend."

"Just a little get-together at my parents' place. I always like to bring along somebody to run interference." Boling was downplaying the getaway. The professor was smart too--he'd seen Dance and O'Neil together--and understood that he'd walked into the middle of something now.

"It's beautiful up there," O'Neil said.

Dance remembered that he and Anne had spent their honeymoon at an inn near the Cakebread Vineyard up in wine country.

Could we just shoot these ironies dead, please? Dance thought. And she realized that her face was burning with a girlish blush.

O'Neil asked, "Wes is at your mom and dad's?"

"Yep."

"I'll call him. I want to cast off at eight tomorrow."

She loved him for keeping the fishing date with the boy, even though Dance would be out of town and O'Neil had plenty to cope with. "Thanks. He's really looking forward to it."

"I'm getting a copy of the decision from L.A. I'll email it to you."

She said, "I want to talk, Michael. Call me."

"Sure."

O'Neil would understand that she meant talking about him and Anne and the impending separation, not the J. Doe case.

And Dance understood that he wouldn't call, not while she was away with Boling. He was that kind of person.

Dance felt a fast urge--a hungry urge--to hug the deputy again, put her arms around him, and she was about to. But for a man who remained unskilled at kinesic analysis, O'Neil instantly picked up on her intention. He turned and walked to the stairs. "Got to collect the kids. Pizza night. Bye, Jon. And, hey, thanks for all your help. We couldn't've done it without you."

Tags: Jeffery Deaver Kathryn Dance Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net