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"Agent Dance, how you doing? Everything's quiet here."
"Good. Mr. Chilton's back, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"Do me a favor?"
"You bet."
"Get out of the car and just stand here, maybe lean against the door, so people can get a good look at you."
"Something going down?"
"I'm not sure. Just stay there for a bit. Whatever happens, don't move."
He seemed uncertain but climbed out of the car.
Dance now walked up to the front door and pushed the buzzer. The musician within her detected the slightly flat tone of the final chime.
Chilton opened the door and blinked to see Dance. "Is everything okay?"
Then, after a glance over her shoulder, Dance pulled her handcuffs out of their holster.
Chilton glanced down. "What--?" he gasped.
"Turn around and put your hands behind your back."
"What is this?"
"Now! Just do it."
"This is--"
She took him by the shoulder and turned him around. He started to speak, but she simply said, "Shh." And ratcheted on the cuffs. "You're under arrest for criminal trespass on private property."
"What? Whose?"
"Arnold Brubaker's land--the site of the desalination plant."
"Wait, you mean yesterday?"
"Right."
"You let me go!"
"You weren't arrested then. Now, you are." She recited the Miranda warning.
A dark sedan sped up the street, turned and ground along the gravel drive up to the house. Dance recognized it as a unit of the Highway Patrol. The two officers in the front--bulky men--glanced at Dance curiously and climbed out. They looked over at the county sheriff's office car and Deputy Miguel Herrera, who touched his radio on his hip as if wanting to call somebody to see what this was all about.
Together the new arrivals walked toward Dance and her prisoner. They noted the handcuffs.
In a perplexed voice, Dance said, "Who're you?"
"Well," the older of the troopers said, "CHP. Who are you, ma'am?"
She fished for her wallet in her purse and showed her ID to the troopers. "I'm Kathryn Dance, CBI. What do you want here?"
"We're here to take James Chilton into custody."
