A Darkness Absolute (Casey Duncan #2)(29)

I am ashamed that it has been twelve years, and I still have nightmares. That in four months my new lover has already become so accustomed to them that he only has to feel me shaking against him, and he’ll wake and hold me and whisper.

I huddle against him and swallow, shivering, and he says, “Talk?” I shake my head and curl up against his chest, and he holds me until I fall back to sleep.





EIGHTEEN

We don’t get on the trail at first light. I take Storm out while Dalton makes breakfast, and when I open the door, I’m blown off my feet by a gust of wind. Dalton gets the door shut, and we peer out into the darkness as a storm whips up.

Anders was supposed to join us on our trek, and he valiantly makes it to Dalton’s place, but there’s no way we’re going out. We spend a few hours holed up, working in front of the fire. While the wind dies down by eleven, we’ve lost too much daylight to hunt for Sutherland.

By the time we head to the station, everyone’s walking to work, the shops opening. No one lingers at home with the excuse for a snow day. We can’t afford that. Eleven isn’t even all that late for opening Rockton in the winter season. The town’s schedule accommodates the seasons. Longer summer hours and shifts mean shorter ones in winter, when the town goes into a state of semi-hibernation.

Dalton drops off Storm with Petra and then meets me at the bakery, where I’m chatting with the couple who work there. We take our coffee and morning rolls and nearly collide with Val coming in.

“Fresh sweet rolls,” I say, lifting mine as I pass, but not slowing, not opening up a moment of conversation as I would with anyone else. A friendly comment and then move on.

Val says, “The council needs to speak to you.” Then she turns and leaves.

I hesitate. Devon holds out a cloth-wrapped sweet roll for Val and giving me a wry smile.

“Gotta try, right?” he says.

Both Brian and Dalton snort, almost in unison, as if to say they don’t see why we bother. Not with Val. I take the roll and thank Devon as we leave.

*

Val’s already inside when we arrive. I knock. She opens the door. I lift the sweet roll, and she stares at it as if suspecting a bomb in pastry shape.

“Late breakfast, early lunch—whatever you call it, it’s good. And I wouldn’t want to eat mine in front of you.”

She gingerly takes the roll. Then she sees Dalton behind me.

“The invitation was for Casey, Sheriff.”

“And that wasn’t clear, so I came.”

“Your presence is not required.”

I tense, but Dalton only shrugs and says, “Okay. I’ll wait,” and starts clearing snow from her front porch.

“I’m certain you have better things to do,” Val says. “Unless you’re concerned Casey will run off on you.”

“Nah, she can’t run that fast. I always catch her. Throw her over my shoulder. Haul her back to my c—” He stops, and I know how he’d been going to finish that. Haul her back to my cave. He resumes sweeping off the deck. “My workload for this morning requires my detective. So I’ll wait. Eat my roll. Sip my coffee. Glower at the locals. That’s ninety percent of policing, you know. The glower.”

I wait for Val to snap something. But she doesn’t even seem to hear him. She’s already retreating into the house, saying, “Suit yourself, Sheriff,” as she motions me in.

We settle in the living room. Val has left her sweet roll on the table. I’ve put mine down, and I’m waiting, but she just sits there.

“How does she say it happened?” Val asks.

“What?”

“The young—” She stops. Waits a beat, and then says, “Nicole,” as if she knew the name but is reluctant to admit it. “How does she say the initial attack happened?”

“She was picking berries when she was hit from behind.”

“Where did she say this took place?”

“A hundred feet or so from town.”

“She went berry picking at night?”

“It was evening and still light out.”

Val plucks imaginary lint from her dress pants. I don’t know why she wears dress pants. It’s not as if she goes out and meets people. But as she fusses, her hands tremble.

“Val?” I say.

“Was it one man? That’s what your report says, but is she certain? Only one?”

Shortly after Val arrived in Rockton, she disappeared while on militia patrol. Dalton was the one who found her, and she told him she’d just gotten lost. She admitted to me that she’d been taken by two men, whom she’d tricked, escaping unharmed. She did not escape unharmed. No one’s going to capture a woman, threaten her, and then fall asleep, having done nothing in between. To Val’s mind, though, “allowing” anything would be a sign of weakness. So she did not.

“Nicole is certain it’s one man,” I say, but Val doesn’t relax. She just looks up and says, “What do you think of her story?”

“Story?” I try not to bristle. It’s just poor word choice, but I’ve been known to use it myself. “I’m not sure it’s possible to think anything other than that it’s terrible. Unbelievably terrible. If you’re suggesting—” I pause. Rephrase. “We’re all concerned, of course, that it could happen again. That her captor knows about Rockton and may take another woman. We’ve doubled night patrols, and we’re going to be careful about letting women outside the boundaries. As sexist as that will seem, I think everyone will understand. We have a predator—”