“Yeah, I know.” He eases back in his chair and smirks. “I just like to hear you say it.”
“Jerk.”
“Not ‘asshole’? Pretty sure that deserved an ‘asshole.’”
“I’m being nice to you, because I’m done.” I walk over and straddle his lap. “And I was promised dessert.”
“Pretty sure I never actually…” He watches as I shed my shirt and bra. “My mistake. I definitely promised dessert.”
“Just not in the kitchen.”
He laughs and then scoops me up and carries me past Storm, out of the kitchen.
* * *
We’re out for a walk. Just the two of us, which feels like parents sneaking away on their kid. As much as Storm loves her jaunts, sometimes we need to take one without her, relax and enjoy the night as a couple.
It’s past midnight, the sun finally dipping below the horizon. It’s warm, too. I haven’t spent a summer here, but I’m told to expect temperatures in the low- to mid-twenties—Celsius, that is—which is damn near perfect for me, since I’ve never been fond of hot and humid.
Despite the romantic stroll, we aren’t completely slacking off. We’re also patrolling the town’s borders. Warmer temperatures mean residents throw off the shackles of the long, cold, dark winter, and they go a little crazy, also throwing off the rules that keep them inside our boundaries. There isn’t a fence around Rockton. The council tried that, but it just made people feel like they were in an armed camp. Better to treat them like adults. Which works better when they act like it. We’ve already had incidents this spring, with people sneaking off for a moonlight walk—or moonlight sex—in the woods.
When we spot a figure in the woods, Dalton opens his mouth, ready to launch a profanity-laden tirade that’ll send the offender tearing back to town like a dog caught off its property. But before he can say a word, I grab his arm, my fingers tightening.
He looks down at me.
“Can you tell who that is?” I whisper.
He squints and then shakes his head. It’s a figure in a dark jacket, hood pulled up. The size looks male, but even that is an educated guess.
“If you shout, you’ll lose him,” I say.
Most times, Dalton would be willing to just do that. It’s not worth his time to punish someone for being ten feet outside town. Yet when the town’s under a strict lockdown, a scare isn’t enough.
Dalton slips off. I count to ten, and then I circle the other way, approaching the figure from the rear.
The man is just standing there, looking toward Rockton. Which is odd. The point of sneaking out is to put town life behind you for a while. The only reason to be on the edge looking toward it is …
If you’re watching someone inside.
Did someone spot April? See enough in the shadowy twilight to realize she wasn’t me?
Yet we aren’t near my old house. Nor are we near the clinic.
My next guess is, unfortunately, a male resident paying unwelcome attention to a female one. Guys make up three-quarters of our population. At least a third of the women are here to escape a partner—a stalker or abusive ex—which means they aren’t exactly looking to strike up a new relationship. That leaves a serious shortage of available partners for heterosexual men, which can lead to guys having trouble hearing the word “no.”
I mentally map the town. Two of the border buildings nearby are storage units, and the only house belongs to Anders. That doesn’t mean this isn’t a stalker. Our deputy gets his share of unwanted attention from both sexes.
I ease to the side for a better look and realize this guy isn’t behind Anders’s house. He’s looking between the two storage buildings. He has one hand raised. I didn’t notice that at first—it’s on the other side of his body—but when I move, I see he’s holding something to his face.
Binoculars. I’m trying to remember whether we have a compact pair like that when a shadow moves through the trees. A dark figure heading right for the man.
Dalton.
I swear under my breath. Of course Dalton is coming. While I’ve been trying to solve this puzzle, he’s been waiting for me to approach the guy. If I don’t, he will.
“Did you miss the goddamn announcement?” Dalton says, his voice ringing out. “We’re under a fucking cur—”
He stops. Goes completely still and then says “Casey!” as his hand flies to his holstered gun. The guy wheels, and I see his face.