XO

with their music but with the downloads only. Villalobos said, “Yeah, we don’t want that kind of life-on the road. We won’t travel. We have jobs, families, bebes. Jesus has twins-he got to go change diapers now.” A glance toward the grinning, handsome young man who was packing away his old battered Gibson Hummingbird guitar.

They said good-bye and Dance and Kayleigh climbed into her dark green Suburban. Dance had left her Pathfinder at the Mountain View and had ridden here with Kayleigh in her SUV. Darthur Morgan began the drive back to Dance’s motel. He’d stayed out in the SUV to keep an eye on the street. Six or seven small hardcover books, leather bound, were in the front seat. The titles were stamped in gold, on the spine only. Classics, Dance guessed. He didn’t seem to read them when he was on guard duty itself. Maybe they were his pleasure when he was in his room at night. A portal to take him away from the persistence of threat.

Kayleigh was looking out the window at the dimly lit or black landscape. “I envy them,” she said.

“How’s that?”

“It’s like a lot of the musicians on your website. They play at night and on weekends for their friends and families. It’s not for the money. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so good. Ha, modesty alert… But you know what I mean. I never really wanted to be a star. I wanted to have a husband and”-she nodded back toward Villalobos’s-“babies and sing to them and friends… It just all got away from me.”

She was silent and Dance supposed she was thinking: If I wasn’t famous I wouldn’t have Edwin Sharp in my life.

Dance could see Kayleigh’s reflection and noted her jaw was set and there were possibly tears in her eyes. Then Kayleigh turned back, shoving her troubled thoughts away, it seemed, and said with a sly grin, “So. Tell me. Dish.”

“Men?”

“Like yeah!” Kayleigh said. “You mentioned Jon somebody?”

“The greatest guy in the world,” Dance said. “Brilliant. Used to be in Silicon Valley, now he teaches and does consulting. The most important thing is that Wes and Maggie like him.” She added that her son had had a very difficult time with his mother’s dating. He hadn’t liked anybody until Boling.

“Of course it didn’t help that one guy I introduced them to turned out to be a killer.”

“No!”

“Oh, we weren’t in any danger. He was after the same perp I was. It’s just that I wanted to put him in jail. My friend wanted to kill him.”

“I don’t know,” Kayleigh said ominously. “There’s something to be said for that.”

Thinking again, probably, of Edwin Sharp.

“But the kids love Jon. It’s working out well.”

“And?” the singer asked.

“And what?”

“You going to tell me or not?”

And here, I’m the kinesics pro. Dance debated but in the end demurred. “Oh, nothing… just who knows what’s going to happen? I’ve only been a widow a few years. I’m in no hurry.”

“Sure,” Kayleigh said, not exactly believing the lame explanation.

And Dance reflected: Yes, she liked Jon Boling a lot. Hey, she probably loved him and on more than one occasion, lying in bed together during one of the few nights they’d spent out of town, she’d come close to saying so. And she’d sensed that he had too.

He was kind, easygoing, good-looking, with a great sense of humor.

But then there was Michael.

Michael O’Neil was a detective with the Monterey County Office of the Sheriff. He and Dance had worked together for years and, if she was instinctively on anyone’s wavelength, it was O’Neil’s. They worked in timepiece harmony, they laughed, they loved the same foods and wines, they argued like the dickens and never took a word of it personally. Dance believed that he was as perfect for her as anyone could be.

Aside from that little glitch: a wife.

Who had finally left him and their children-naturally, just after Dance started going out with Jon Boling. O’Neil and his wife, Anne, were still married, though she was living in San Francisco now. O’Neil had mentioned divorce papers being prepared but timetables and plans seemed vague.

This would be a topic for another evening with Kayleigh Towne, though.

In ten minutes they’d arrived at the Mountain View, and Darthur Morgan steered the Suburban to the front of the motel. Dance said good night to them both.

It was then that Kayleigh’s phone buzzed and she looked down at the screen, frowning. She hit ANSWER. “Hello?… Hello?” She listened for a moment and then said firmly, “Who is this?”

Hand on the door lever, Dance paused and looked back at the singer.

Kayleigh disconnected, regarding the screen once more. “Weird.”

“What?”

“Somebody just played a verse from ‘Your Shadow.’”

The title track of her latest album and already a huge hit.

“They didn’t say anything, whoever it was. They just played the first verse.”

Dance had downloaded the track and she recalled the words.

You walk out onstage and sing folks your songs.

You make them all smile. What could go wrong?

But soon you discover the job takes its toll,

And everyone’s wanting a piece of your soul.

“The thing is… it was a recording from a concert.”

“You don’t do live albums,” Dance said, recalling that Kayleigh preferred the control of the studio.

She was still staring at the screen. “Right. It’d be a bootleg. But it was really high quality-almost like a real voice, not a recording… But who was playing it, why?”

“You recognize the phone number?”

“No. Not a local area code. You think it was Edwin?” she asked, her voice going tense with stress, looking up at Darthur Morgan, whose dark, still eyes were visible in the rearview mirror. “But, wait, only my friends and family have this number. How could he get it?” She grimaced. “Maybe the same way he got my email.”

“Could it be somebody in the band?” Dance asked. “A practical joke?”

“I don’t know. Nobody’s done anything like that before.”

“Give me the number. I’ll make some calls. And I’ll check out Edwin too. What’s his last name?”

“Sharp. No e. Would you, Kathryn?”

“You bet.”

Dance wrote down the number of the call and climbed out of the Suburban.

They said good night.

“I guess we better get home now, Darthur.”

As the vehicle pulled away, Kayleigh was looking around the empty parking lot as if Edwin Sharp were lurking nearby.

Dance headed inside, aware that she was humming one line to “Your Shadow” as it looped through her thoughts, unstoppable.

What could go wrong… what could go wrong… what could go wrong?

Chapter 6

DANCE STOPPED AT the Mountain View bar and got a glass of Pinot Noir then walked to her room and stepped inside. She’d hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the knob earlier and she left it there now, looking forward to that mother’s rarity-sleeping late.

She showered, pulled on a robe and, sipping the wine, plopped down on the bed. She hit speed dial button three.