Roadside Crosses

house, their purpose to get Hawken and his wife out of danger and set up surveillance at the house.
    But upon arriving, Dance had seen a figure in a hood, possibly holding a gun, lurking in the bushes to the side of the ranch. She’d sent Albert Stemple and the MCSO deputy after the intruder, and Rey Carraneo, with Dance behind him, barged into the house, guns drawn, to protect Hawken and his wife.
    They were still badly shaken; they’d assumed Carraneo was the killer when the plainclothes agent had burst through the door, his weapon high.
    Dance’s Motorola crackled and she answered. It was Stemple again. “I’m in the backyard. Got a cross carved into this patch of dirt and rose petals scattered around it.”
    “Roger that, Al.”
    Lily closed her eyes, lowered her head to her husband’s shoulder.
    Four or five minutes, Dance was thinking. If we’d gotten here just that much later, the couple would be dead.
    “Why us?” Hawken asked. “We didn’t do anythingto him. We didn’t post. We don’t even know him.”
    Dance explained about the boy’s expanding his targets.
    “You mean, anybody even mentioned in the blog’s at risk?”
    “Seems that way.”
    Dozens of police had descended on the area within minutes, but the calls coming in made clear that Travis was nowhere to be found.
    How the hell does a kid on a bicycle get away? Dance thought, frustrated. He just vanishes. Where? Somebody’s basement? An abandoned construction site?
    Outside, the first of the press cars were beginning to arrive, the vans with the dishes atop, the cameramen prodding their equipment to life.
    About to stoke the panic in town that much hotter.
    More police showed up too, including several bicycle patrol officers.
    Dance now asked Hawken, “You still have your house in the San Diego area?”
    Lily replied, “It’s on the market. Hasn’t sold yet.”
    “I’d like you to go back there.”
    “Well,” he said, “there’s no furniture. It’s in storage.”
    “You have people you can stay with?”
    “My parents. Donald’s children are staying with them now.”
    “Then go back there until we find Travis.”
    “I guess we could,” Lily said.
    “You go,” Hawken said to her. “I’m not leaving Jim.”
    “There’s nothing you can do to help him,” Dance said.
    “There sure is. I can give him moral support. This is a terrible time. He needs friends.”
    Dance continued, “I’m sure he appreciates your loyalty, but look at what just happened. That boy knows where you live and he obviously wants to hurt you.”
    “You might catch him in a half hour.”
    “We might not. I really have to insist, Mr. Hawken.”
    The man showed a bit of businessman’s steel. “I won’t leave him.” Then the edge left his voice as he added, “I have to explain something.” The smallest of glances at his wife. A pause, then: “My first wife, Sarah, died a couple of years ago.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    The dismissive shrug that Dance knew oh so well.
    “Jim dropped everything; he was at my door within the hour. He stayed by me and the children for a week. Helped us and Sarah’s family with everything. Food, the funeral arrangements. He even took turns with the housework and laundry. I was paralyzed. I just couldn’t do anything. I think he might’ve saved my life back then. He certainly saved my sanity.”
    Again Dance couldn’t suppress the memories of the months after her own spouse’s death—when Martine Christensen, much like Chilton, had been there for her. Dance would never have hurt herself, not with the children, but there were plenty of times when, yes, she thought she might go mad.
    She understood Donald Hawken’s loyalty.
    “I’m not leaving,” the man repeated firmly.“There’s no point in asking.” Then he hugged his wife. “But you go back. I want you to leave.”
    Without a moment’s hesitation, Lily said, “No, I’m staying with you.”
    Dance noted the look. Adoration, contentment, resolve . . . Her own heart flipped as she thought, He lost his first spouse, recovered and found love again.
    It can happen, Dance thought. See?
    Then she closed the door on her own life.
    “All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “But you’re leaving here right now. Find a hotel and stay there, stay out of sight. And we’re going to put a guard on you.”
    “That’s fine.”
    It was then that a car screeched to a stop in front of the house, a voice shouting in alarm. She and Carraneo stepped out onto