This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(111)

And so they go, accusing one another and protesting their innocence, leaving me feeling like the therapist for the most dysfunctional family ever.

Except I’m not their therapist. I am their judge, jury, and, yes, executioner.

I can end this now. Decide who is lying and shoot him. I have Brady pinned under me, and Wallace is barely even bothering to hold the knife on Diana, too caught up in defending himself against his stepson’s accusations.

All I have to do is decide who is telling the truth. Who is the real killer. Which is impossible, when I have nothing to go on but their say-so.

Maybe after all my years as a detective, my gut should tell me which one is guilty. But right now, it wants me to shoot both of them. It says they’re both full of shit, and I don’t think it’s wrong. Neither is being completely honest. But one is a serial killer, and the other is just a garden-variety dangerous son of a bitch. One deserves death. One does not. And I have no idea which is which.

I catch Diana’s eye. She’s looking straight at me, tuning out father and son as she waits for me to resolve this, like I always do.

Casey to the rescue. Just trust Casey.

See how well that worked out for Val and Kenny.

I failed them. I will not fail Diana.

I could signal to her that she can jump aside and get free of Wallace, but that’s a risk.

No more risks. No more being a homicide cop. I need to channel Dalton here. I am the guardian of those under my protection, and they are all that matters.

“He’s yours,” I say to Wallace.

Brady screeches, “What?”

“You’ll escort him back to town,” I say, “and I don’t really give a damn what happens then.”

Which is a lie. I have every intention of getting to the bottom of this. I just can’t do it out here, with them raging at each other, drawing the attention of everyone around. And not while Anders lies unconscious and Kenny is in desperate need of medical attention. Just let me get them to town, and I’ll figure out my next move there.

I haul Brady to his feet. When he resists, I squeeze his broken wrist. He howls . . . and a bullet hits the tree right beside Wallace’s head.

Wallace spins. But he doesn’t dive for cover. He grabs Diana, yanking her in front of him. When she tries to pull away, the knife flashes and blood sprays, and I forget Brady.

I run for Diana. Wallace holds her like a human shield. I knock her in the side, shoving her away. Wallace grabs my upper arm and yanks me into Diana’s place. When I see the look on his face, I know what he is.

I finally know.

I swing my gun up. The idiot has forgotten I have it. He slashes with the knife, the blade aiming for my face. I wrench from his grasp.

“On the ground!” I say, gun barrel pressing up under his chin. “Get on the goddamned ground or—”

“You’ll shoot?” Wallace says. “You haven’t yet, Casey.”

“Because I hadn’t figured out which of you bastards is guilty. Now I have.” I push the gun barrel in harder. “Do you notice which one I let escape? And which is at the end of my gun?”

“You’re wrong. You—”

His whole body convulses so fast I’m sure it’s a trick. I’m about to pull the trigger when I see Diana beside him, holding the knife, blood dripping from the blade. Wallace’s mouth works. Then he topples.

I kick Wallace as he falls, and then I’m on him. He lies facedown on the ground, my gun to his head. Blood gushes from his side.

“I stabbed him,” Diana says, and she’s clutching the weapon in both hands. “I took the knife, and I stabbed him. He—”

“Get down,” I say.

I look around, but there have been no more shots.

Brady is gone, and the sniper has stopped shooting.

That is no coincidence.

“It’s your shooter, isn’t it?” I say to Wallace. “You put someone out here to kill him. You paid the council to let you bring in an assassin.”

Wallace gives a ragged chuckle. “You have seen too many movies, my dear. And Oliver was wrong. You’re a lousy detective. You picked the wrong—”

“No, I did not. The minute that gun fired, you grabbed Diana to shield you. You stabbed—”

I look over sharply to see she’s got her jacket off and is wrapping it around her arm.

“He sliced me good,” she says. “You’re going to need to give me a few stitches. I’m fine, though. Not that he gave a damn.”

She’s right. I saw Wallace’s face when he pulled her to shield him. When he stabbed her. When he tried to stab me.

Backed into a corner, we cannot conceal our true selves. I saw his, and I still don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with here, but Gregory Wallace is not an innocent man.

I bind and gag him. Then I leave him where he lies, while Diana takes me to Anders.





59





When we arrive, Anders is conscious and struggling to get free from an old hemp rope tying him to a tree. His wrists are bloodied, and as much as I want to carefully tend to his injuries and Diana’s, Kenny’s situation is a much graver concern.

Our path takes us past Wallace. Diana offers to stay with him. I don’t actually give a damn if anyone stays—he’s not escaping those ties and if the cougar finds him and thinks he’s a fine dinner, I’m okay with that. But I leave Diana behind, armed with a knife and a whistle.