"Not fifteen million."
"Far from it, I bet. That's part of the reason I'm here. I'm not a stand-up guy. I'm a bit of an asshole. But I'm not a sociopath. That would be the guy who sent me here."
8
When I walk into the Roc with Mathias, Isabel is already pouring a shot of her top-shelf tequila. She holds it out for me.
"It isn't noon yet," I say.
"It is somewhere."
"And I'm on duty."
"True." She downs the shot herself. "I have a feeling I'm going to need that."
She pulls over a bottle of single malt and pours a shot for Mathias. He arches his brows. She points to the side.
"Glasses over there. Ice, too, if you insist on ruining good Scotch."
"I do not ruin it. I chill it. Two shakes around the glass and out it goes."
"Waste of good ice, then, which isn't cheap this time of year."
"Put it on my tab, and come winter I shall replace the cube with an entire block."
Isabel grants him a chuckle for that. She even gets him a glass, though she draws the line at adding the ice. Mathias still smiles, pleased with his victory, and then admires her rear view as she crosses the bar to start the coffeemaker.
"Eyes off my ass, Mathias," Isabel says. "I'll put that on your tab, too, and it's more than you can afford."
"Oh, nothing is more than I can afford, cherie. And I do not need to pay. You would be offended if I were not looking. I am simply bowing to your iron will."
She rolls her eyes.
The door opens. Dalton walks in and says, "Coffee ready?," as if this is his biggest concern, but his gaze slides my way, asking how it went with Mathias and Brady. I make a face. He grimaces and eyes the beer display but doesn't ask for one. The door opens again, and Val joins us.
"Gang's all here," Isabel says. "Before we begin, would you like a drink, Val?"
"Yes. Tea, please. Strong."
Isabel's lips twitch. From anyone else, that might have been a joke. Not Val. Strong tea is her equivalent of my tequila shot.
First, I tell them Brady's story about the shooter in San Jose.
"Bullshit," Dalton says. "Bullshit to make you do exactly what you're doing."
"Wonder if I've been misled."
"Right. He pretends he's been accused of an entirely different crime, and you start wondering if there are multiple stories going around, which makes it seem like we're being played."
That's the answer I like. I'm not sure it's the right one, though. I walk them through the rest of the interview.
When I finish, Isabel looks at Mathias. "Well, that was a mistake."
His brows shoot up.
"You just antagonized a man who viciously murders people for no provocation."
"Then perhaps, having given him provocation, I have removed myself from danger."
"You just can't help yourself, can you, Mathias? You are incapable of learning the lesson life has tried to teach you: don't piss off the psychos."
"I am stubborn."
"Stubbornly suicidal."
From that exchange, I presume Isabel knows why Mathias is here. One of those "psychos" accused Mathias of brainwashing him into emasculating himself and then managed to escape and come after Mathias, leaving dead bodies in his wake. Which should sound as if the innocent psychiatrist was targeted by a delusional psychopath spouting obvious nonsense. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that isn't actually how it worked. Not with Mathias.
Dalton cuts in. "I'll side with Mathias on this. Rattling Brady's cage might not be the worst thing. Get him worked up enough to snap, prove he's not Mr. Innocent. We just need to make sure his cage is locked tight. And if he does lash out?" Dalton shrugs. "He's got a target now."
"Thank you, Sheriff," Mathias says. "While I would think my approach is somewhat more nuanced than 'rattling his cage'--"
Dalton snorts and rolls his eyes at me, but Mathias continues, "--yes, that is part of my approach."
"Never learned the idiom about honey and vinegar, did you?" Isabel says.
"It doesn't work for me. Now, if you were to offer Mr. Brady honey, I suspect that would be an entirely different thing. He doesn't want mine."
"Should we do that?" Val says. "Should we allow Isabel to handle this instead? Or perhaps not instead, but in conjunction with Dr. Atelier. The honey and the vinegar."
"I can consult if you truly see the need," Isabel says. "But if you're hoping for me to charm and disarm, I suspect I'm twenty years too old for that. Brady seems like a classic narcissist, which implies he'll have no use for older women--they would not satisfy his self-image. He would only expect to charm me. To disarm me."
"Then he would prove himself a very poor judge of character," Mathias says. "Which I believe he is not, as evidenced by the fact that he has not attempted to charm Casey. He knows better. The same would go for you."
"But what about someone he felt he could charm?" Val says.
"That's actually a good idea." I make a face as I hear myself. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. But we could provide contact with someone we trust. Someone Brady will find an easy dupe. He needs an ally. He needs someone championing his cause and seeding doubt. Maybe even someone he thinks he can con into helping him escape. A woman who will, at least to him, seem ripe for his charm. Lonely. Uncertain. Overlooked."
Mathias turns to Val. "I do hope you're volunteering."
I glare at him.
"What?" he says. "Have you not just described Valerie?" At a harder glare, he deigns to add, "In the sense that Valerie can appear to be all of that."
"No," I say.
"He's right," Val says. "I wasn't volunteering but . . ." She looks from me to Isabel, as if searching for an answer there. Then she squares her thin shoulders. "I am perfect for the job. We can even tell him I'm the town leader. That will make him feel as if he warrants special treatment. And he'll know I have power here, which makes me even more useful to him."
"Yeah, no," Dalton says.
"You think I can't handle it, Sheriff?"
He meets her gaze. "No, I think it's dangerous."
"And you think I can't handle that."
"No, Val. I think nobody should be put in that position. Don't pull this bullshit."
I know what he means. When Val first arrived in Rockton, she'd wanted to join a patrol. Dalton argued against it. She took offense--clearly he was discriminating against her because she was a woman. The council had backed Val . . . and she'd been attacked on that trip. Kidnapped by hostiles and almost certainly sexually assaulted, though she vehemently denies it. The truth is that Dalton has never let anyone--even Anders--into the forest so soon after arriving. But even now, Val hears only "You can't handle this," because she's been hearing variations on that all her life.
"Casey?" she says.
"No," Isabel says. "Don't do that, Val."
"Isabel's right," I say. "You're asking me to intercede with my boss, Val. This is a law enforcement issue. He's the sheriff."
I can feel Dalton studying me. Trying to figure out what my answer would be.
"You can still voice an opinion," Val says, and Isabel makes a noise, low in her throat, a warning that Val ignores.
"You think we should try it," Dalton says.
"I . . . I would rather not put Val in that situation," I say.
"In ideal circumstances," he says. "But under these ones, you think it's worth a shot."
I want to say no. Support him. He is my boss, and I never want to undermine his authority. That opens up a situation where residents will act like Phil, coming to me as the calm and reasonable one who can intercede with Dalton. Worse, they'll come to me as his lover, in hopes that I can use leverage.
So I want to just say Dalton's right. But he knows that isn't my answer, and he'll take more offense at a lie.
"I don't like the idea," I say carefully. "But if Val is willing--"
"I am." She straightens and meets Dalton's gaze. "I can do this. Whatever you think of me, E
ric, I believe I am more, and I'd like the opportunity to prove it."
He mutters, "Fuck." It's like when Nicole asked to join the militia after her ordeal. I wanted to say no. Tell her to take more time. Not to push it. But I understood that need to push. Val is trying to step up. She's trying to be a valuable member of the community. Unless we are vehemently against her doing this, it's difficult to deny her that opportunity.
"Fine," Dalton says. "You have a week. If it doesn't go anywhere, I'm pulling you out."
Val wants to start right away. As hard as she fought for this task, once the meeting breaks up, I can tell she's having second thoughts. Yet when I offer her the chance to change her mind, that only solidifies it. She wants to meet him now. Before she loses her nerve.
Val and I walk into the station, talking town business. I give her some files. As she's preparing to leave, I ask her to send Kenny in to relieve me for lunch. She goes . . . and returns to say he's been called off and she'll stay instead. I hem and haw, but she insists.
I tell her I'll be back in thirty minutes. I actually do leave--I go for coffee at the bakery--but I've warned Kenny to keep an ear on that door.
When I return, it's with Dalton, and it hasn't been nearly thirty minutes. She knows to expect that, and when we walk in, she acts surprised, scurrying from the cell room.
"Sheriff," she says.
"Everything okay?" Dalton slows, his gaze moving from Brady to Val.
She stammers a response, and she overdoes it, but Brady doesn't seem to notice and comes to her rescue with, "We were just talking about my meals. I need more protein. And I'd like hand weights. Twenty-pounders."
"If you don't get the weights, you won't need the protein," Dalton drawls, but when Brady's lips tighten, he says, "We'll arrange trips to the gym later. We're not giving you dumbbells, though. We call those weapons."
"Oh, I think that's overstating the matter," Val says.
"Then you think wrong," Dalton says. "Now, if you'll excuse us . . ."
Val bristles. Dalton turns his back on her. Brady follows the exchange and allows himself the smallest of smiles.
9
It's now day five, and we need to get Brady out of that cell. Time for his first walk.
Anders, Dalton, and I lead Brady into the forest through the station back door. I've removed his gag, and he's trudging along, gaze down, docile and quiet. We make it three steps before he spots a woman by the forest's edge and raises his bound hands.
"Help me," he says. "Please. This is a mistake. They're going to--"
"Yeah," Nicole says. "You definitely want to keep that gag on."
She walks to Brady. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I look like a gullible passerby? There aren't any of those here. You know what is here? People who'll take one look at scum like you and--"
He snaps forward to crack heads with her, but Nicole pulls back and their foreheads barely graze. Then she plows her fist into Brady's stomach, and he staggers, gasping in pain.
"Like I said," she says. "Don't bother."
She continues past him. Moving out of his field of vision so he doesn't see her flushed face and quickened breathing. I resisted bringing her on this walk. She's militia, which means she's trained for it, but she became militia after her ordeal. I understand her need to get past that, toughen up and move forward. I also know the dangers of doing it too fast, and that quickened breathing tells me that as badass as the encounter looked, she's quaking inside.
While Dalton replaces Brady's gag, I look over and Nicole mouths, Please. I know she means please let her come. I nod.
We've barely taken three steps when Dalton hears something, and we see a trio of residents, who just happen to have decided to stroll along the town border. Brady turns their way, his head bowed, bound hands lowered. He makes no move to get their attention, but he does, of course. He looks as pathetic as he had for Nicole.
Please help me.
They've made a mistake. You see that, don't you?
He says something against the gag, and I don't even think it's words. It's not meant to be. He's just drawing their attention to his situation.
This is the dilemma we face. Remove the gag, and Brady can plead his case. Leave it on, and the very gag pleads it for him.
Look at me.
Look what they're doing to me.
"You done gawking?" Dalton says to the trio. "Come over and take a closer look. See if Nicki has a bruise yet, from where he head-butted her."
Of course, there isn't a mark, but that's enough to make them decide to head back into town.
We set out. As we walk, Anders glances at me, as if feeling the urge to make small talk. I'm not sure that's wise, though. It feels too easy to let something slip, something that might suggest Brady isn't in Alaska.
Except that's not all he knows. He has seen faces. Heard names, even if they're fake. We are making an enemy here, one who does not seem like a stupid man. One who is not going to forget us.
I'm only beginning to realize the full extent of the danger the council has put us in.
We're a couple of kilometers into the forest when I turn to Brady and say, "Enough exercise?," and he looks around, as if he's considering, but it's more than that. He's processing his surroundings, and when he shakes his head, I know it's not that he wants more exercise--he wants to see more.
"We can go back and come out again," Nicole says.
"Nah," Dalton says. "We'll walk as far as he wants. He's enjoying the scenery. Plenty of it out here."
Endless scenery, that's what he means. Endless trails that go nowhere Brady will want to go. They lead to mountains and caves for us to explore. Lakes and streams for fish and fowl. Hunting blinds. Overnight campsites. Berry patches. Yes, one of those paths might hook up with a trail used by miners or trappers, which could ultimately get you to the nearest village. But Brady would still need to survive the trek with no weapons or skills.
As we continue, Nicole asks if anyone has seen our resident man-eating cougar recently. It's a heavy-handed attempt to tell Brady what he'd face out here, but Dalton goes along with it, mostly for conversation. The silence is starting to smell of fear, as if we're too shaken by Brady to talk around him.
They're discussing the big cat when I see a figure around the next bend. My left arm flies up, stopping Brady. My right goes for my gun.
"It's just me," Jacob calls as he breaks into a jog. "I was about ready to give up on you guys. I thought we said noon . . ."
Jacob slows as he rounds the bend and sees us. His gaze travels over Brady, and I'm waiting for a What the fuck? Except he won't say those exact words. Dalton's younger brother does not share his propensity for profanity.
Instead, he just says to Dalton, "You forgot about me, huh?"
Now we get the "Fuck," from Dalton, and, "Yeah, sorry."
We're close to the spot where Dalton and his brother trade, and I'm guessing that's what they had scheduled for today.
I wave at Brady. "We had a situation."
"I see that. I heard Eric and Nicki talking, and I thought maybe she'd come along to help him carry supplies."
"Or to visit," Nicole says. "I hope I'd be more than a pack mule in that scenario."
"Course," Jacob says, his cheeks flushing over his beard, which I do not fail to notice has been trimmed short. His hair is tied back neatly, and he's dressed in the new jeans and new tee he'd requested at their last trade. Which isn't to say that Jacob normally looks like he's just crawled from a cave after a winter's hibernation. But he does live out here, without access to showers and department stores.
This extra effort was in hopes Nicole would accompany Dalton, as she often does, part of the slow dance between Jacob and her. They've been circling each other, not unlike a couple of fifteen-year-olds, trying to figure out if the other is interested before making any embarrassing moves.
"Eric did forget," Nicole says. "Otherwise, I'd have expected an invitation. But, yes, as you can see . . ." She nods at the man beside me. "We
have a situation."
Jacob nods.
"You're not even going ask why we're walking a bound and gagged man through the forest, are you?"
Jacob shrugs. "Figure he pissed Eric off."
Nicole laughs at that.
Jacob looks at his brother. "You want me to store the game?"
"Nah, we'll take it off your hands."
We walk around the bend to the spot where Jacob left his trade goods--a brace of rabbits, one of ducks, and one of pheasants.
"Good hunting," Dalton says.
" 'Tis the season, as Dad used to say."
Dalton nods, expressionless, as he always is when his brother mentions their parents. When Dalton was nine, the former sheriff of Rockton "rescued" him from the forest. And by "rescued," I mean kidnapped. So Dalton went from one loving set of parents to another. And the first set never came after him, while the second never realized that what they'd done was wrong. It's an impossible situation to reconcile, and Dalton refuses to even discuss it.
After Jacob mentions their dad, Dalton just bends to examine the game and discuss the price. If there's any haggling involved, it's Dalton trying to get Jacob to take more. Another impossible situation--Dalton wants to help his brother, and Jacob sees that help as charity.
Dalton has tried to get Jacob to come to Rockton. Jacob refuses. I wonder sometimes how much of that is choice and how much is fear that he won't fit in, that he will be seen as a freak. Dalton already feels that about himself. But if I presume Jacob chooses the forest out of fear, then am I any different from the women who presumed Dalton stayed in Rockton out of fear he wouldn't fit in down south?
Those women meant well, but in their way, they were no different from Dalton's adoptive parents. The Daltons found a boy living in the forest and decided no one could voluntarily want that life, so they rescued him. When Dalton and I look at Jacob's life and wish for better, we fall into that same trap of thinking what we have is clearly superior.
When Dalton and Jacob finally agree on a price for the game, Jacob says, "You can get me your stuff next week. If the weather holds, I want to head north for a few days. Got a spot up there that's all-I-can-haul hunting."
"Or all-two-can-haul," Nicole says. "Someone agreed to take me on a hunting trip once the weather improved."
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