This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(105)

“For the money.” I turn to Dalton. “Seems a little overcomplicated, doesn’t it?”

“Just a little,” he drawls.

“Hell,” Jacob says. “I’ve never even been down south, and that sounds crazy to me. Accuse you of killing a bunch of people, ship you off into the wilderness, and then execute you?”

“Gotta be easier ways of killing an inconvenient heir,” Dalton says.

“At the risk of sounding like a rich prick lecturing the local rednecks, it’s not that easy to get rid of me. My mother loves me more than she trusts Greg. If I died down there, she’d suspect him. In a few months, he’ll tell her the so-called truth. By then, he’ll have fabricated all the evidence he needs to convince Mom that her darling boy was a psychotic serial killer. Then he’ll show her all the steps he took to keep me safe . . . only to have me die in these woods, through no fault of his own.”

“There must be more to it,” I say.

Brady growls under his breath. “I don’t want to call you stupid, Detective . . .”

“Then don’t. And please remember that I am a detective. Your story stinks. Back at the start, even you said there was more to it. A secret you knew, about your stepfather.”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is—”

“Eric, can you cuff him? We really need to get him back to Edwin. We may need to find a gag, too.”

Brady wheels . . . to find my gun pointed at his face, Dalton’s at the side of his head.

“Hands behind your back,” I say.

“You think you want my secret, Detective? Actually, you don’t. Because if there’s any doubt in your mind that I’m a lying son of a bitch, this will erase it. The only person who gets to hear it is my stepfather. One final card I can play to beat him at his game. It’s my ace in the hole, and I’m not letting you take it away from me.”

“Then I guess you’re going to get the chance to play that ace very soon. Put your hands behind your back.”



We are marching Brady to the First Settlement, and I’m trying to figure out what the hell to do about that. He’s called my bluff, and right now, the only solution I can think of involves showing him it’s not a bluff. Handing him over to Edwin and seeing what Brady plans to do about that. Which is a shitty, shitty plan.

It shouldn’t come to that. Brady’s smart enough to realize that no secret is going to fix this solution. His leverage is with Wallace, who has no power here.

So how does Brady think he’s going to get out of this?

He doesn’t. He really is calling my bluff, and he expects me to cave.

Okay, fine. Forget the hostage exchange. Let me take you back to town, and we’ll work this out.

I already know his secret. I’ve figured that one out. But if I confront him with it, I lose ground.

I need him to tell his secret. Break down and confess. Hand me that ace in his pocket. Give me what he thinks is his power.

I need it before we reach the First Settlement.

I look at Dalton, walking behind me, but he’s deep in thought, also trying to see a way out of this predicament.

I pause to let him catch up. We need to talk. I’m not sure how but . . .

Dalton stops. He’s looking to the side. I go still and listen. I don’t need to focus very hard to hear the distinct clomp of boots on hard ground. Kenny’s looking over, too. Brady opens his mouth, but at a sharp wave, he shuts it. Dalton motions for Jacob and Kenny to take Brady and Storm, and for me to follow him.

The boot steps continue along the path. There’s no attempt to be stealthy or to avoid the path. That makes me hopeful—hopeful that as we sneak up through the trees, I’ll see Anders. Or any familiar face from Rockton.

Instead, I catch the guttural tones of a settler.

Dalton lifts a hand, sees I’ve already stopped, and grants me a nod of apology. We both go still as we listen.

“We’ll split up here,” a man says. “You go left. I’ll take right.”

“Edwin said to stay together.”

“We’re tracking a southerner. An unarmed southerner.”

“Didn’t stop him from almost killing Martha.”

“But he failed. He couldn’t even take down a woman. He’s soft. Old, too.”

“He didn’t seem that old. And he still got away. He’s smart—”

“Not as smart as us.”

Gregory Wallace has escaped the First Settlement. There’s no other way to interpret this, but I still mouth the words to Dalton. He nods—he’s come to the same conclusion.

I creep back to Brady, who’s looking the other way, gazing into the forest. I slip up to him, put my gun to his chest, and whisper, “One word, and I pull this trigger.”

His glare is icy rage. He hates me. I don’t know if he would have hated me no matter what the circumstances. I don’t know if my actions thus far have led to this. But whether he’s a killer or not, I suspect that if Oliver Brady got hold of a gun, his first bullet would go between my eyes.

We wait until the settlers are out of earshot. Then we wait a little more, before Dalton nods, telling me they are gone.

“There is no exchange,” I say to Brady, and he smirks.

Called your bluff, Detective.