This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(109)

I want to put my damned gun to his head. I might, too, if I could spare the time to slow down . . . and the time to chew him out . . . and the risk of being overheard by our sniper. I see Dalton watching from above. He gives a dismissive gesture, one I’d love to interpret as “Just shoot the son of a bitch,” but I know better.

“Keep up,” I say. “You want to try escaping again? That sniper isn’t the only one in this forest with a gun.”

“You don’t need to keep reminding me,” he grumbles as he jogs over.

When I glance back to Dalton, he puts a finger gun to his head and shakes his head, and I have to smile at that. By this point, we don’t really give a shit if Brady is innocent. Killing him on principle seems like a fine idea.

He catches up and stays behind me. I’d rather he was in front, where I can watch him, but that won’t help me find Anders and Diana quickly. I can no longer hear them. I’m moving at a slow jog, and Brady has the sense to do the same, making minimal noise.

Shortly after I start, I think I hear something, but it quickly goes quiet. I’m long out of Dalton’s line of sight, unable to see more than the mountaintop over the trees. I’m mentally trying to pinpoint where the sound might have come from when I hear Diana, her voice harsh as she argues with Anders.

I’m not sure whether to breathe a sigh of relief that I hear her . . . or hiss in exasperation at her loudly bickering with him. Diana and Anders had a one-night stand after she arrived, and then I showed up and to her, he suddenly turned his attentions my way. Not entirely true. Their affair had been a drunken one-nighter, which he regretted, realizing he might have taken advantage of her at a vulnerable time. But to have him hanging out with me a day after sharing her bed? Humiliating, and she hasn’t forgiven him. I don’t quite blame her. It’s an awkward situation all around.

Now I’m just wishing they hadn’t had the harebrained idea to team up and come find me. Why Diana? Even at our closest, I’d never have chosen her as a search-team partner.

“I am not—” she begins.

Anders answers, his voice pitched higher than normal, clearly feeling the strain of this pairing. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but it must be some variation on Hell, yeah, you will, Di, because she comes back with, “Absolutely not, you crazy—”

A hiss of pain cuts her short, and I stumble to a halt.

Will?

The question lasts only a split second. I know Will Anders, and it doesn’t matter if he isn’t really Will Anders, if he’s a soldier named Calvin James, who shot his CO in cold blood. Anders would be the first person to call himself a killer, a monster. But even when I once suspected him of brutally murdering four residents, I’d struggled with my own conclusion. As naive as it sounded, I could not believe he’d done it. And he hadn’t.

I know Will Anders. I also know Calvin James. I know exactly what happened, even if he doesn’t understand it himself. Once I stood in front of a man I hated, pointed a gun at him, and pulled the trigger. I snapped. Anders did the same, spurred on by tragedy and rage and misprescribed medication.

When I hear Diana’s words and that hiss of pain, I know that the other speaker is not Anders.

“Casey!” Diana calls, and her companion doesn’t stop her. “Casey? If you’re out there, and you can hear me . . .” She pauses, as if expecting to be interrupted. “Run. Run like hell—”

A smack cuts her short. Whoever has her hostage told her to call to me. This just isn’t the message he wanted imparted.

“Casey?” she shouts. “It’s Brady’s father. He’s knocked out Will—”

Another thwack, hand against flesh. Then I hear Wallace talking to Diana, his voice clearer now as he tells her to stop it, he hasn’t hurt Anders, hasn’t hurt her, stop being so melodramatic.

“And you think I’m fucked up?” Brady mutters behind me. “He’s holding your friend hostage, smacking her around and telling her she’s overreacting.”

“So he is dangerous?” I say.

Brady stares at me. “Have you been listening to anything I said? He’s killed at least five people. Tortured them. Watched them die. Oh, but he seems like such a nice guy.” He jabs a finger in the direction the voices came from. “Does that seem like a nice guy? Of course he’s fucking dangerous. He’s going to kill your friend and—”

“Just checking,” I say as I kick out his knee.

Brady drops, and I grab his arms with one hand, wrenching them up again as I put my gun at his head and plant my foot on his back.

“Wallace!” I shout. “It’s Casey.”

“What the fuck are you—?” Brady begins.

“You just confirmed he’s dangerous. Which means he’ll kill Diana and Will if he doesn’t get what he wants. I’m going to guess what he wants is you.”

Brady goes wild, struggling and snarling. I keep wrenching his arm and warning him to stop. There’s a crack, as his wrist breaks. He howls in pain.

“You bitch. You—”

“Shhh,” I say. “I can’t hear your daddy.”

I push Brady’s face into the dirt and shout, “Wallace?”

“Yes . . .” The reply comes slow, tentative.

“You’ve got something I want,” I say. “I’m going to guess I have something you want, too.”