City of the Lost

by Kelley Armstrong

  "Bitch? You're calling her a--"

  I grasp Beth's arm. "I've got this."

  "No, Casey. I'm sorry. I know you think you deserve to be treated like crap, but you don't." She turns to Diana. "It wasn't enough to lie to get yourself in here. You had to bring a friend, so you wouldn't be alone. Casey doesn't like to complain even when she has damned good reason, so I'm going to do it for her. The real issue isn't that you lied to get into Rockton. It's what you did to get her in."

  "I don't know--"

  "You hired some Italian thug to make Casey think the Saratoris were after her."

  "Wh-what? How would I--?"

  "Your ex set it up. That's what you told me when you were under the rydex and the pain meds. You confessed."

  I stand there, behind Beth, my knees feeling like they're about to give way. I look at Dalton, but he's staring at Beth, as stunned as I am. Then he catches a glimpse of my expression, and he moves up behind me, his hand going against my back as if to steady me, and I need that hand, God I need it. I sway slightly, and the hand moves around my waist, holding me still.

  "You're a lying bitch," Diana says to Beth.

  "We have proof," Dalton says. "The council found the guy Graham hired, and he talked."

  He's bluffing, but Diana buys it, saying "He was only supposed to scare them. That's what Graham told me. The guy would wave his gun and maybe fire it off and then run after he delivered his message."

  "And you actually believed that?" Dalton snorts.

  The look Diana turns on him isn't disbelief. It's hate. She glowers as if he's responsible for all this. Dalton's responsible. Beth's responsible. Graham's responsible. I'm responsible. Everyone except Diana herself is responsible.

  "Well, then, I guess I'm not the only one leaving, am I?" Diana says. "We're both here under false pretences. So we're both getting kicked out."

  Beth slaps her. The sound comes so suddenly, both Dalton and I jump.

  "You accuse Casey of being a cold bitch?" Beth says. "You screwed up your life. Made bad choices and had to come here. Except you didn't want to come alone. So you dragged your best friend--"

  "She needed this!" Diana says. "For twelve years she's barely even had a pulse." She turns to me. "It's not just guilt over Blaine and looking over your shoulder for Saratori's men. You want to believe you bounced back after what happened in that alley, but no one bounces back from something like that. You needed to get away more than I did."

  "Who are you to decide that?" Beth says. "Casey was doing just fine. Homicide detective before her thirtieth birthday? That's a hell of an achievement, and she loved her job. She'd also met a man she cared about very much."

  "The bartender?" Diana snorts. "The only thing she cared about was that he was good in bed and he looked good in one."

  "Then why is she still wearing his necklace?"

  "Can we not do this?" I say. "Please?"

  "The point I'm making, Casey," Beth says, "is that you were doing fine when Diana upended your life. I know you've been making the best of it, but--" She exhales. "If there's anything good to come out of this mess, it's this: you can go home. The council will fix the issue with your job, and I'm sure your boyfriend would be happy you're back."

  I stare at her. I haven't even considered the fact I can go back now, because there is nothing to consider. Beth's wrong. I wasn't on the road to happiness down south. Hell, I hadn't even found the map yet.

  I'm also damned sure Dalton isn't going to let me walk out on his investigation. But he hasn't said a word.

  "Casey?" he says finally.

  He's waiting for an answer. Because it's up to me. Totally my call. He doesn't care one way or the other, and after the sucker punch of Beth's revelation, this feels like someone grinding his fist in the same spot.

  "Butler?"

  "I ... I need to think about it."

  Silence. Then, "You need to think about it," each word enunciated so slowly and so coldly, it snaps like an icicle.

  I turn to Dalton, and I see that same ice in his grey eyes. Cold anger and hurt, and I realize he wasn't saying he didn't care if I went. He'd been wondering why I hadn't jumped in to say I'm not leaving. Now he looks at me, the chill dropping with every passing second. Then he turns and walks out.

  "Eric!" I stride after him, but Beth grabs my arm.

  "He's fine, Casey. He's not going to be thrilled about you leaving mid-case, but this isn't about him."

  "No," I say. "It's about me, and I have no intention of leaving."

  A look crosses her face. Confusion, it seems. Then she manages a tentative smile. "Good." She hugs me, and it's awkward, because neither of us is the hugging type, but she whispers, "I'm glad to hear it," and I realize she wasn't saying she didn't care if I left, only that she'd understand if I did.

  "I should talk to Eric," I say, turning away.

  "Let him go," Beth says. "He's stressed out and exhausted. Better he walks it off in the woods. Take some time and think about this before you tell him you aren't leaving. Be one hundred percent sure."

  I nod and say I'm going to go think about it and maybe speak to Anders, and she smiles at that and says, "Yes, go talk to Will. I'll look after Diana." She mouths, "With sedatives," and offers me a smile, which I force myself to return before I take off ... after Dalton.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Of course I'm going after Dalton. There's no doubt in my mind that I'm staying in Rockton, and I need to tell him that. He did not, however, head out for a quiet walk in the woods. I'm halfway across town when I hear the roar of an ATV and look to see him on one, ripping into the forest.

  I don't have time to get an ATV. I know the path he's on, and the next one over will let me cut him off if I run. So I run as fast as I can, ignoring the stares and the calls of "Casey?" and "Detective?"

  One of the militia guys tries to come after me, alarmed, but I yell back, "I just need to talk to Eric. He didn't take his radio," and he nods and waves away the concerns of anyone else who finds it troubling that their detective is running like a madwoman for the woods.

  The paths converge about a half mile in, so it's no short sprint. But I manage to make it to the convergence point just in time to see him ripping around a bend. When he spots me, he's off the ATV almost before it comes to a stop.

  "Get the hell back to town," he shouts to be heard over the engine.

  I shake my head. "I want to talk--"

  "No. You know the rules. Get your ass back to town. Now."

  I loop past him and shut off the ATV. "I want to talk."

  "And I don't."

  I walk over to him and look up. "You're overreacting, Eric."

  I expect a flash of rage and a hot denial. Instead, he says, teeth clenched, "Yes, which is why I'm out here. By myself. And why I don't want to talk."

  I back up to the ATV and perch on it. He looks down the side path, the one he's just come from, and I know he's ready to walk away, leaving me with the ATV, so I can get safely back to town.

  I take the keys from the ignition and pitch them into the forest.

  "What the hell?" he says.

  "If you walk away, so will I. In the other direction. Which leaves me out in the forest alone."

  His eyes narrow. "That's not very mature."

  "Just following your lead, sheriff."

  I get a glower for that.

  "I admitted I was overreacting," he says. "It's been a fucking long day. I'm exhausted, and I'm on edge. This morning you said if I got kicked out of Rockton, you'd come with me, and then, a few hours later, you're thinking about leaving? What the hell was that this morning, Casey? Why the hell would you say you'd come with me--" He breaks off, shaking his head sharply as he steps back, putting distance between us. "I'm tired, and I'm overreacting, and I'm going to ask you, again--"

  "You never said I could stay."

  "What?"

  I slide off the ATV. "Twice last night, I said I would leave with you ... if you weren't going to kick me out after six
months. You never said you'd changed your mind."

  "We were joking around. Fuck, how could you even think I still planned to send you back?"

  "Because you've never said you changed your mind. Because you don't threaten unless you mean it, and until you say I'm allowed to stay, I'm going to presume I'm still on probation. I just found out that my best friend betrayed me. Completely and utterly betrayed me. Then Beth--whom I considered a new friend--tells me I have no reason to stay, and that stung. But you know what hurt a whole helluva lot more, Eric? When you let Beth go on about me leaving and said nothing."

  "I was waiting for you--"

  "--to say I wasn't leaving. And I was waiting for you to say I can stay. So it was a misunderstanding, and I'm here to clear it up. There's nothing for me to think about. I don't want to leave. I have work to do--"

  "Work to do..."

  "Yes, and I'd never leave you in the lurch like that."

  "It's not about leaving me in the lurch, Casey. Goddamn it. This is about..." He looks away and lowers his voice. "Maybe you should go home."

  "What?"

  He groans and runs his hands through his hair. "I don't mean that. Fuck, of course I don't. If you're happy here, you can stay as long as you want. I just--" He turns away. "We need to get back to town."

  I get in front of him. "No, we need to talk. If you don't want me in Rockton--"

  "Of course I want you here," he says. "That's the fucking--"

  He bites it off and turns again, ready to leave the other way, but I block him again.

  "Don't do this, Casey," he says, his voice low. "Just let me go."

  "And leave me here? In the forest?" It's a low blow, and the turmoil in his eyes almost makes me regret it, but I'm determined to hash this out.

  I step closer to him.

  "Back up," he says, barely unclenching his jaw.

  "So you can run away?" I say. "No. If you don't want me here, Eric, you're damned well going to tell me now, not leave me dangling--"

  I don't see it coming. One second I'm telling him off, and the next I'm against a tree, his hands on my hips, his mouth coming down to mine. There's one split second of What the hell? followed by another second of Shit, this is a bad idea, but by then he's kissing me and I don't really give a damn where it came from or how lousy an idea it is.

  He's kissing me, and that's all I think about, all I can think about, because it's no tentative "Is this all right?" kiss. Nor does it go from zero to sixty in five seconds flat. It starts at sixty and stomps down on the accelerator. I'm against the tree and he's kissing me like I'm the first woman he's seen in ten years, and he's not wasting one moment getting this kiss to its ultimate destination.

  His hands are under my shirt, running up my bare sides and around my back, pulling me against him. Once, when he has to stop for breath, he gives a ragged, "I don't want to do this," but before I can even decipher the words, he's kissing me again, as if the sentiment didn't pass from his lips to his brain.

  He says it again, as he breaks the kiss when my belt doesn't unfasten quite as fast as he'd like, but this time it's only, "Don't want to," before he continues wanting to and doing so, yanking out my belt and pulling at the button on my jeans, and kissing me so hard my lip catches in his teeth, and there's a jolt of pain, just enough to zap the top layer of lust from my brain, enough for me to hear his words again.

  I don't want to do this.

  Don't want to.

  I could ignore that. He's leading, so I can just let him take this where he so obviously intends to take it, where he so obviously wants to take it, despite his words.

  I'm squelching my doubts as hard as he is. I want this. Hell and damn, I want this. My whole body ignites at his kiss, at his touch, at the feel of him against me, and I want more. More, more, more, and now.

  I don't want to do this.

  Don't want to.

  I shudder, and he takes that for passion and stops tugging my jeans over my hips and lifts me up onto him instead, straddling him as he pushes against me, his hands going to my face, holding it between them as he kisses me. A two-second break in the momentum for a sweet, deep kiss, and that's all I need. One moment's delay and a sweet kiss to remind me that this isn't a stranger I met in a bar, quick sex in the back hall, never to see each other again.

  This is a guy I care about, and some part of him doesn't want to do this, and if I let him, it'll be guilt and shame and That was a mistake and It won't happen again and awkwardly avoiding each other. And it'll be more than that. It'll be heartbreak, because I care about him, more than I really want to care about any guy, and when it's over, I'll have sacrificed something good for five minutes of passion.

  His hands drop to my waist again, pushing my jeans down, the lust reigniting, the kiss deepening, his breath coming harsh as he sees the end in sight and--

  I pull back. "No, Eric."

  He doesn't seem to notice, just pulls me to him again, pushing between my legs as he flips open the button on his--

  "No, Eric." I put my hand on his chest and push him. "Stop."

  He blinks. Then he pulls back, sucking in breath, and before I can even catch a glimpse of his expression, he steps away, letting me drop, and then turns and strides off.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Dalton storms off and leaves me struggling to get my jeans on, and I feel like I'm back in tenth grade, kissing Matthew McCormack behind the school when his hands slide under my shirt and I push them out, and he takes off in a snit, never to speak to me again. Which is understandable at sixteen. It is not understandable at thirty, and as I watch Dalton walk away without a backward glance, I slam my fist into the tree, which is absolutely the stupidest thing I could have done, and I bite my lip to keep from yowling.

  I cradle my hand, eyes closed, rage and frustration whipping through me so hard the pain almost feels good.

  Damn him. God-fucking-damn him. And damn me, too, for not stopping him the moment he pushed me against that tree.

  If you didn't want it, asshole, why did you start it? Start it and then tell me twice you didn't want to, like I'm a witch who cast a spell over you? Sweetest damn thing a guy has ever said to me.

  I'm going to fuck you, but I really, really don't want to.

  I almost slam my fist into the tree again. I settle for stomping the ground, and not caring if I look like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. I should throw a tantrum. My life needs more of them. More? Hell, I can't even remember the last time I lost my temper, and God knows I have good reason.

  Everything that brought me here was a lie. When Diana refused to go to the hospital, I felt so bad, so fucking bad for her. She was so beaten down and yet so strong. Strength? Bullshit. It was lies. Lies so she could be with that sadistic bastard.

  She brought me here for the same damned reason as always. I was her rock. The dependable friend who would be there for her no matter what. Time to go to college? Find one near Casey, so you don't need to be alone. Can't shake your ex? Convince Casey to move to a new city with you. Need to escape after stealing a million dollars? Run far, far away ... but don't forget to take Casey. Diana's security blanket. Diana's guard dog.

  I take a deep breath and look at the path. I don't want to go back to Rockton. Not yet. I want to do exactly what Dalton is doing. Walk it off out here, in the stillness and the silence, where no one can interrupt and say, "Hey, what's wrong?" and force me to put on a happy face. I'm hurt and I'm angry and I want to indulge that. For once, I want to indulge that.

  I consider searching for the ATV keys, but I'm not even sure where I threw them. I still can't believe I did that. Completely irresponsible. And I don't regret it for a second. Fuck all this. I'm going to start being a little irresponsible and immature. I've earned it.

  That does not mean I stalk off the path. Nor do I head away from town. I'm being reckless, not stupid. Yet I get barely twenty steps along the trail before I see Dalton in the distance, just standing there with his back to me.

  I'm cutti
ng across to avoid him, and I know exactly where I'm heading--I'm on the proper angle--when I hear a twig crack behind me. I turn and see a distant figure. It goes still, mostly hidden behind a tree, but I recognize the build and the height and the glimpse of dark blond hair. Dalton.

  Asshole.

  Yes, following me when I've wandered from the trail does not make him an asshole. Under any other circumstances, it'd be a considerate thing to do. But in this mood, I resent the implication that I can't handle this on my own and change direction, planning to stay off-path a little longer.

  Am I hoping to provoke him? Bring him over here, snarling and snapping? Yep, because I'm in the mood to snarl and snap back. When I do immature, I don't do it by halves.

  Except there is a reason I don't do immature and irresponsible. Because eventually it does cross the line into reckless and stupid. I'm so focused on goading Dalton by staying off-path that I'm not paying nearly enough attention to where I'm going. Then I stop catching those distant glimpses of him, and I'm sure he's sneaking up--I even hear twigs and needles crackle nearby--so I pick up my pace, weaving through the forest, hell-bent on annoying the shit out of him.

  That's when the noises stop, and they stay stopped, and I walk for a few minutes more before I realize Dalton's not there. I lean against a tree, waiting for him to catch up. Only he doesn't, and the woods are silent, and I'm alone.

  I head off in the direction that I'm sure will take me toward town. After about ten minutes the terrain changes, growing rockier, which means I'm nowhere near Rockton. That's when I realize I'm lost.

  I mentally call myself a whole lot of nasty names, but I don't panic. I retrace my steps. Just get back on the path. The problem? I'd been so intent on luring Dalton out that I'd paid little attention to my surroundings, and I have no idea if I'm actually retracing my steps.

  Still, I try to be smart about it. I use the tricks Dalton taught me for tracking--broken twigs, impressions in the soft earth, scuff marks in the rocky dirt. I find deer tracks and tufts of fur and that's it, and I have no idea--

  I spot Dalton. He's twenty feet away, in the shade, and all I can see is the dark jacket and the colour of his hair. Then he pulls back a little, as if realizing I'm watching, and I see his profile--the set of his jaw, the shape of his nose.

  I take a deep breath. Then I abandon my pride and call, "Eric?"