A Darkness Absolute (Casey Duncan #2)(117)

“You can’t get out of here,” Anders says. “People saw us rush you in, and it doesn’t matter how cold it is, they’re curious, so they’re hanging around, hoping to hear what’s going on. If you run, there’ll be thirty people between you and the forest.”

“That’s why I’ve got her,” he says. “She’ll come along peacefully. I know she will.”

“Detective Butler isn’t some innocent bystander,” Anders says. “Even without her gun, she’ll take you down before you reach that forest.”

“No, she just thinks she will. That’s why she’ll come along peacefully. She’s sure she’ll get the jump on me, so she’s not going to fight.” The gun barrel presses cold against my scalp. “Am I right, Casey? That’s what you’re doing right now, isn’t it? Playing good hostage. Waiting for me to make a mistake. Knowing I will, because no one’s as clever as you. Except…” He lowers his lips to my ear and whispers, “There’s a problem, isn’t there?”

There is a problem. I feel it coursing through my veins. Literally coursing. That jab when he grabbed me. He’s injected me with something.

I glance over at Anders. He’s still assessing, working through scenarios. It’s a good thing he’s there, because Dalton is paralyzed with indecision. There’s a gun to my head, and that’s all he sees, a wobbling gun at his lover’s head, and he’s holding a gun himself and that seems to be the answer, but he knows it’s not. Yet he can’t bring himself to lower it, as if that would be surrender.

“We’re going to back down this hallway and out the rear door,” Benjamin says. “The sheriff and the deputy will go on ahead to clear the way. They’ll warn that any sudden moves will seal Casey’s death warrant. I’ll fire and run.”

“If you take her into that forest, she’s dead,” Anders says. “You’ll kill her as soon as the way is clear.”

“No, I’ll keep her, like I kept the others. That’s why she’ll come with me, and it’s why your sheriff will let her leave. Because they’re both arrogant enough to think they can get out of this. She thinks she can escape. He thinks he can find her.”

“Kind of tipping your hand, aren’t you?”

Benjamin chuckles. “I could show my whole hand, and they’ll still think they can beat me. That’s what happens when you’re thirty years old and run your own town. Thirty years old and a big-city homicide detective. A guy like me doesn’t stand a chance against them.” He shifts the gun. “You’re going to find out what a man like me can do, Casey. What an ordinary man can do. How he can outwit you. That’s how this whole thing started, a test of wits you never even realized you were having.”

“How’s that?” I ask, and like Anders, I’m not really hoping for useful answers—I’m just stalling as I struggle against the sedative.

“The cave,” he says. “You were going to explore my cave.”

I glance at Anders, my brow furrowing.

“Bear Skull Mountain,” Dalton says, his voice cracking as if it’s been hours since he spoke. “I promised to take you spelunking on Bear Skull Mountain.”

It takes a moment. Then I remember—we’d been having drinks at the Lion after a caving expedition. I’d declared I wanted to explore new territory. Dalton suggested we head over to Bear Skull next time.

“You were there,” I say to Benjamin. “In the Lion. You overheard us. Bear Skull is where you were keeping Nicole and the bodies, and you were worried we’d find them. So why not just move Nicole?”

“Because I liked where I had her. And I wasn’t going to let some stuck-up whore make me do anything. So I engaged you in a battle of wits. You were just too witless to realize it.”

“You were luring me,” I say. “That day of the storm. You made a point of running when Eric was away. You knew I’d still go after you.”

“Arrogance, like I said.”

“I’d go after you, and you’d lure me in that direction. Then you’d take out Will or separate us. That’s why you led us toward the cave. Get me close, make it easier to transport me. Only you didn’t anticipate the storm.”

The gun barrel rubs against my scalp. “Of course I did. I knew it was coming. I used it.”

Which is bullshit. The storm disrupted his plans. He still managed to get into his snowmobile suit and balaclava, and bloody his toque, but I recall him standing there—just standing there, watching. We’d had our guns on him, and we were alert and unharmed enough that he’d seen no way of taking me.

So he’d dropped the hat and withdrawn. I don’t know if he lost us after that or if he’d been keeping an eye on us the whole time—and just never saw a window of opportunity he could use.

We hadn’t even known a game was in play, and we’d still won.

“That was you in the forest,” I say. “During the storm when I was alone. You attacked me. I—”

“It wasn’t the time. I realized that, which is why I let you go.”

Not quite how I remember it, but I let him have that and then say, “It was you in my house, too.” My words are starting to slur, but I push on. Keep him talking. “You planned to fake your escape and show up in my house and take me captive from there. Yet it wasn’t that easy, was it?”