“That’s all I’m saying. Don’t ask for more.”
I need more. I’m sure that over the years more than one of our residents has broken the rules and reassured a loved one that they were going someplace safe, someplace off the grid, some secret town. But getting from that to Rockton itself involves much more, and we have to know where our vulnerabilities lie. That conversation can come later. It will come, though. It must.
“So you found us and—” I start to say.
Footsteps sound on the step. Heavy bootfalls, accompanied by the scratch of dog nails.
The man’s head snaps up.
“Yeah,” Diana says. “That’d be her boyfriend. The local sheriff, with their very big dog.” She points toward the rear of the house. “The back exit is that way.”
Dalton tries the door.
“I need to let him in,” I say. “Otherwise—”
“Otherwise he’s ten seconds from knocking down that door,” Diana says.
I stand. Dalton’s twisting the knob a second time, certain that he’s mistaken about it being locked. Then—
His fist booms against the door. “Casey!”
The guy on the couch rises, and his mouth opens, like he’s ready to tell me not to answer, but he can already see that’s not an option, and as I reach for the lock, he hesitates only a second before grabbing Diana’s arm.
She lets out a yelp.
“Case—!” Dalton begins … and I pull the door open.
Storm lunges. I grab her before she makes this situation a whole lot worse. Then I stand in Dalton’s way, so he can’t see inside.
“We have a visitor,” I say.
“What the—?” He tries to shoulder past.
“Eric, hold on a sec. I’m going to let you in.”
“No,” the intruder says. “Please ask your sheriff to stay—”
“Not happening,” I cut in, Dalton echoing my reply in far less polite language.
“Eric?” I say again. “Hold on, please. He has Diana.”
“Really?” Diana says. “Could you tell him it’s Nicki? Petra? Isabel? Someone he wouldn’t actually like to see dead?”
Dalton aims a glower her way. I roll my eyes for him. He doesn’t want Diana dead. He just doesn’t like her very much … and the feeling is mutual.
“The situation is under control,” I say. “I’d like you to put Storm in the kitchen, and then come back, sit down, and join the conversation. Okay?”
He nods. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. My speech is more for the guy on the couch. Diana has painted our she
riff as a hothead. A man our intruder might not want to mess with. True, but Dalton’s also never going to shove me aside and roar in, guns blazing. He isn’t an idiot. Diana just prefers to think he is. Again, the feeling is mutual. Which is going to make this fun. Really.
As Dalton passes the living room, he doesn’t fail to stop and give the guy a slow once-over. Taking his measure. Nodding, as if to say, Yeah, I can handle this. Then he continues on and locks Storm in the kitchen. She sighs, and the door thumps as she settles against it.
“Who the fuck are you?” Dalton says as he strides into the living room.
I pass him the man’s badge.
“Mark Garcia,” Dalton says.