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"He even set it up with Rashiv to meet, quote, 'accidentally' and Wes'd pretend to steal a comic or something from him, threaten to hurt him. Donnie bought it all."
"And today? At Goldschmidt's."
"Wes'd noticed Donnie acting strange lately. More erratic. The night Donnie tagged Goldschmidt's house? Wes saw him pick up a rock. He was going to attack somebody who was approaching where they were hiding. Near Junipero Manor."
Dance whispered, "Me. That was me."
O'Neil said only, "I know." He continued, "Wes couldn't give himself away to Donnie that night but he turned his phone volume up and scrolled to ringtones. It played a sample, like he was getting a call. Donnie got spooked and took off."
Dance closed her eyes and her head dipped. "He saved me. Maybe saved my life."
"Then tonight he caught a glimpse of something in Donnie's pocket and thought it might be a gun. So he decided, whatever evidence he had, enough was enough. It was time to call in the cavalry."
"Why didn't he just report it in the first place? A month ago? Why play undercover?"
O'Neil's eyes swept her desk. "I don't know. Maybe to make you proud of him."
"I am."
But even as Kathryn Dance said those words she wondered, but did he know it? Really know it?
Or, Dance suddenly thought: to make you proud of him, Michael.
Silence filled the room. Dance was thinking of the conversation she would have to have with the boy. Whatever the good motives, there were some minefields here. Dance had amassed capital in Monterey County with the prosecutor's office; she'd have to see how much currency, and how negotiable it was. And, she thought too, Donnie'll need help. Not just jail time. At that age, nobody was irredeemable. Kathryn Dance believed this. She'd do what she could to get him into treatment, whatever facility he was sent to.
Then she looked at O'Neil, to see that his expression and posture had changed dramatically. No kinesic subtlety here.
And everything she saw set off alarms within Kathryn Dance. She thought: As if what Michael just told me about Wes weren't enough. What was coming next?
He said, "Look, as if what I just told you wasn't enough..."
Any other time she might have smiled; now her heart was racing.
"There's something else." He glanced back to her door. Still shut.
"I can see that. What's it about?"
"Okay, it's about, I guess you could say, us."
Dance's head rose and dipped slightly, a nod being one of the most ambiguous of gestures. It was often a defensive move, the meaning: I need to buy some time and toughen up the heart.
Because she knew what was coming next. Michael and Anne were getting back together. It happened more than one might think, reconciliations. Once the divorce papers had been signed, a little cooling off, the ex-wife's lover turned into a creep or was duller than dull. Old hubby doesn't seem so bad after all. They'd decided to clean house, roll up their sleeves and try again.
Why else would Anne have been there the other day, at CBI, with the kids? Dressed like the perfect mom from central casting. O'Neil's comments: the sort-of babysitter, the plural pronoun about having plans the night of Maggie's show.
"So, here's the thing."
Michael O'Neil's eyes were fixed on a thoroughly ugly yellow ceramic cat that Maggie had squeezed together in first grade.
Dance's eyes were unwaveringly on his.
Chapter 92
Her house beckoned.
The Victorian glowed, thanks to subdued sconces near the door and, from inside, light paled to old bone by the curtains. Dots of white Christmas lights around an occasional window or clustering on a plant added to the ambience of magic. The illumination was lopsided but no matter; Dance had never felt the need to be symmetrical.
Kathryn Dance shut the SUV's engine off but remained where she was, fingers enwrapping the wheel tightly. They trembled.
