This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(27)

Before I can speak, I see a paper in Jen’s hand.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“A petition.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Petra reaches to snatch it.

Jen yanks it back with, “Hey!”

I put my hand out. Jen holds the paper up but doesn’t pass it over.

“I have fifty names,” she says. “Residents who demand a public inquiry into the department’s handling of this situation.”

“An inquiry?” Petra says. “Do you even know what that is? Or is it just something you heard on TV?”

“Tell me exactly what you want,” I say. My voice is calm, but my heart’s hammering.

Fifty names. One-quarter of the population doesn’t trust our handling of this.

No, only a quarter agreed to sign Jen’s petition. How many others disagree and fear saying so?

“Give me the list—” I say.

I’m stepping toward her, but she swats at my outstretched arm. Storm lunges at her. That’s all she does. It’s a feint, with a warning growl, nothing more, but Jen kicks Storm. Her foot slams square into the dog’s chest.

If asked what I would do in this situation, I would say that I’d go after Jen. I’d be unable to help myself. But the thought does not cross my mind. Instead, I throw myself between them, stopping Jen, and then all my attention is on Storm. She’s only staggered back, with a yelp that is more confusion than pain, but I’m on my knees, cradling her.

Then I hear a snarl and a thump and a gasp, and I turn to see Jen pinned against the wall. And the person pinning her is Petra. She has Jen against the wall, shirt bunched in her fists. The look on Petra’s face is exactly the one I would have expected on my own. Blind rage.

“You do not ever touch that dog,” Petra says between clenched teeth. “You do not ever touch Casey.”

“I-It was a mistake,” Jen stammers. “I’m sorry, Casey. Is she okay? Should I get someone?”

I ignore Jen as I check Storm. She’s breathing fine. My finger prods make her flinch but not whimper. She’s rubbing against my legs, looking for comfort, and that upsets me more than the kick itself. My dog has known nothing but kindness from humans. People here fawn over her, sneak her treats, pet her, offer to take her for runs. As the only pet in town, she’s a pampered princess. Now someone has hurt her. She keeps sneaking glances at Jen.

“Just go,” I say without looking up.

“Is she—?”

“You kicked her. Whether she’s physically hurt or not, she isn’t okay.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. When I was a kid, a dog attacked . . . I’m sorry. I just reacted.”

I pat Storm and get to my feet.

“I was trying to accept your petition,” I say, my voice cold. “You brought it. I was taking it. We all know there’s a problem. We know people aren’t happy. And we’re trying like hell to figure out what to do about it.”

“I was afraid—”

“That I’d burn the petition before Eric saw it? Tell me, Jen, what have I ever done to make you think I’d do anything except present it to him.”

“I—”

“Use your goddamn brain for once. I know you have one. Fifty people can swear they signed your petition, so how the hell could I make it disappear?”

I shake my head. “Just go, okay? Take the petition or leave it. I don’t give a damn. Just—”

A crash sounds inside the station.





16





I race for the door, and I don’t even have it open before I hear voices. I throw open the door to see a half dozen people bearing down on Brady’s cell.

“What the hell?” I say.

The guy in the lead—a new resident named Roy—points at me. “You, stay back.”

“What the fuck?” I barrel in. “You do not ever tell me to do anything. Get the hell out of here. All of you.”

Everyone except Roy stops. They don’t leave, though. They just stop. He keeps going, barging into the cell room.

“Talk to me,” Brady says, gripping the bars. “Please just talk to me.”

I march past the mob. “Roy? You have ten seconds to get out of there or you are under arrest.”

“Yeah?”

He steps up to me. He’s at least six-two and probably two hundred and fifty pounds. It’s not muscle, but he’s still more than twice my size.

“Try that again, girlie,” he says.

I reach for my gun. Then I stop. I see myself pulling it. I see myself pointing it. I see him laughing. And then I see Blaine, hear him laugh. A drop of sweat trickles down my hairline. I leave my gun holstered.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he says. “Get out of my way.”

I cannot get angry. Cannot get defensive. Cannot show this asshole what a mistake he’s making, because if I do, I know how this ends up. With a bullet through his chest.

At a noise behind me, I glance to see Petra. Her eyes still blaze with that fire from earlier, and I put up a hand to stop her.

“Go get the boys, please,” I say. “We seem to have a situation.”

She stands her ground. I meet her gaze. She nods, abruptly, and then shoulders past the others.