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Chilton laughed. "She's funny, Don. Why doesn't she stay and you go back to San Diego?"
"Afraid you're stuck with both of us."
Chilton then grew serious. "You have to leave until this is over."
Dance said, "I've been trying to talk them into that."
"We're not leaving."
"Don--" Chilton began.
But Hawken laughed, nodding at Dance. "I have police permission. She agreed. We're going to hide out in a hotel. Like Bonnie and Clyde."
"But--"
"No buts, buddy. We're here. You can't get rid of us now."
Chilton opened his mouth to object, but then noted Lily's wry grin. She said, "You don't want to be telling this girl what to do, Jim."
The blogger gave another laugh and said, "Fair enough. Thank you. Get to a hotel. Stay there. In a day or two this'll all be over with. Things'll get back to normal."
Hawken said, "I haven't seen Pat and the boys since I left. Over three years."
Dance eyed the blogger. Something else about him was different. Her impression was that she was seeing for the first time his human side, as if this near-tragedy had pulled him yet further from the synth world into the real.
The crusader was, at least temporarily, absent.
She left them to their reminiscences and walked around back. A voice from the bushes startled her. "Hello."
She looked behind her to see the young deputy who'd been helping them out, David Reinhold.
"Deputy."
He grinned. "Call me David. I heard he was here. You almost nailed him."
"Close. Not close enough."
He was carrying several battered metal suitcases, stenciled with MCSO--CSU on the side. "Sorry I couldn't tell anything for certain about those branches in your backyard--that cross."
"I couldn't tell either. Probably it was just a fluke. If I trimmed the trees like I should, it never would've happened."
His bright eyes glanced her way. "You have a nice house."
"Thanks. Despite the messy backyard."
"No. It's real comfortable-looking."
She asked the deputy, "And how 'bout you, David? You live in Monterey?"
"I did. Had a roommate, but he left, so I had to move to Marina."
"Well, appreciate your efforts. I'll put in a good word with Michael O'Neil."
"Really, Kathryn? That'd be great." He glowed.
Reinhold turned away and began cordoning off the backyard. Dance stared at what was in the center of the yellow tape trapezoid: the cross etched into the dirt and the sprinkling of petals.
From there, her eyes rose and took in the sweeping decline from the heights of Monterey down to the bay, where a sliver of water could be seen.
