A Darkness Absolute (Casey Duncan #2)(21)

We’re discussing the possibility that one of our pedophiles rechanneled his frustrated drives. If I were having this conversation with some of my co-workers down south, I’d get the a-perv-is-a-perv argument. When it comes to criminology, Dalton is the best-read partner I’ve had, and it really is an academic discussion—given the nature of pedophilia, what is the chance they’ll substitute adult rape?

We’re passing the station when Anders catches up. Dalton tells him we’re heading to my place for a rest, Anders says, “What about … that thing?”

“It can wait,” Dalton says.

I sigh. “Let me guess. Crisis number twenty-seven awaits? If someone took firewood and didn’t pay again, it’s Jen. And if it’s not her, she’s almost certainly done something to deserve a day on snow-shoveling duty, so I’m fine scapegoating her. There. Case solved.”

“It’s not a case,” Anders says. “Eric brought you … a thing.”

That has me perking up. “A present?”

“It can wait,” Dalton says.

“Hell, no,” I say. “I could very much use the distraction. Give me the thing. Now.”

Anders snickers.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I say. “If I was being dirty, I wouldn’t use a grade-school euphemism.”

“Hey, your mind went the same place.”

“Only when you snickered like a schoolboy.” I look at Dalton. “I want the thing. Whatever it is.”

“You’ll get it. Later. You need to rest and—”

“I need the thing.”

“You heard her, boss. She needs the thing. Yeah, it’s bad timing, but you have to give it to her sooner or later. You’ve offered it, and she’s not going to rest until she gets it.” He pauses. “This conversation isn’t sounding any less dirty, is it?”

“It’s just you,” I say. “Go work. I get the feeling Eric will be a lot more comfortable giving me the thing without you around.”

Anders laughs, shakes his head, and jogs off.

I look at Dalton. “In all seriousness. I’m fine with waiting.”

“No, it’s not something that should wait. It’s just…” He rakes his hair back and sighs. “Fucking lousy timing. Shoulda waited until spring, but I got ahead of myself, and fuck, I probably shouldn’t have gotten it at all without telling you.”

“Eric? Babble never helps. Even profanity-laden babble. What you’re saying is that you’ve bought me a gift and you’re not sure it’s appropriate.”

“Yeah.”

“Then give it to me now, or just tell me I’ll get it later.”

He resumes walking but changes direction, and soon we’re at Petra’s place. He raps on the door, and when she answers, he says, “I’m here to pick up that … thing.”

She grins. “Ah, right. The thing.” She leans against the doorpost, blocking our view inside. “Sorry, Sheriff. I’ve misplaced the thing. You’ll have to come by another time. Maybe next week? I’ll have found it by then.”

He shakes his head.

“Fine.” She looks at me. “I’m keeping your thing, Casey. You wouldn’t want it, so I’m doing you a favor.”

There’s a noise from in her apartment. It sounds like …

“Is … that a whine?” I say.

“Wine? Not here. Try the Red Lion.”

She starts to close the door. Dalton catches it and ushers me through.

“Private property, Sheriff,” Petra says.

“It’s Rockton,” I say. “There is no private property.” I try to brush past her, following the faint sound of whining, but Dalton catches my arm and says, “Remember you said we should consider getting animals again? Working animals.”

My smile grows to a grin.

“A working animal,” he says. “Not a pet. We can’t have pets here. But she needs a master, someone to train her and live with her so—”

I’m already past him and down the hall. The whining comes from Petra’s bedroom. When I throw open the door, a blur of black fur zooms over and stops short when it realizes I’m a stranger.

I see it, and I let out the kind of noise I’ve never let out in my life, the kind girls in school would make over new shoes or a hot guy, and I’d roll my eyes and think, Seriously?

I make that noise.

Behind me, Petra’s laughing, and I’m dimly aware that I’m totally ruining my rep, but I don’t care. I’m on the floor with this giant mop of black fur in vaguely puppy shape. It’s on my lap, wriggling and whining as if it doesn’t care that it’s never seen me before in its life—I am its new best friend.

It’s a black puppy with a streak of white on one ear, and as it licks my face, I spot a black tongue. I stop, my arms still around it, and I turn to Dalton, and I can barely get the words out. “It’s a—You got me a—”

That’s all I can manage, and I swear I’m going to cry. I never cry. Certainly not happy tears. I’ve never even been sure those are a real thing, but that’s what wells up now.

When I was young, my parents once had to attend a conference just after they’d fired our latest nanny for letting me go inside the corner store alone. My sister went with them to the conference—she was ten and knew how to comport herself in public, a skill I would never master. I stayed with my aunt, whom I barely knew.