This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(29)

“We—” one begins.

“You witnessed an officer being assaulted, and you stood and fucking watched it happen. I don’t want to hear a word from any of you. Sit on the floor. Shut your mouths. And pray that when it comes time to pass sentence, I’m not half as pissed off as I am right now. Sam? Get out there and watch them.”

As soon as Sam leaves the cell room, Dalton kicks the door shut with, “Better if I don’t see their fucking faces right now.”

He strides to me.

“I’m fine,” I say. Which is a lie. I’m seeing double, my nose is streaming blood, and my lip is split. But I’m upright, and that’s the important thing. I’d seen the look in Roy’s eyes when he came at me with that knife, and I know I got off easy.

Dalton takes my chin in his hand, and he’s checking my injuries when I catch his eye and shake my head. His lips tighten. He knows what I mean. It’s what stopped him on his way in—made him tend to the mob before me. The job comes first, as long as I’m standing.

“Where’s Will?” he asks Jen.

I answer, “Hatchet mishap with the lumber party. Nothing serious.”

He grunts and tells Jen to get the backup first-aid kit from the clinic. She takes off. Then he strides into the next room, without a word to anyone there, and returns with a wet cloth. He hands it to me, and I press it against my lip as he walks to Roy.

“What the fuck happened here?” Dalton asks.

Roy blinks, as if surprised he’s asking him first.

Before Roy can answer, Brady says, “These rednecks formed themselves a lynch mob, Sheriff. Took advantage of you and the deputy being gone and tried to storm the station. Your detective stopped him. He pulled a knife on her. Knocked her around. But she took him down. Too bad she wasn’t carrying her sidearm.”

“She’s got her fucking sidearm,” Dalton says, his gaze on Roy. “She knew she didn’t need to use it on a useless piece of shit like you.”

“I wanted to try him,” Roy says. “A trial. Not a lynch—”

“You said you were going to string me up,” Brady says. “We call that a lynching where I come from.”

“Can you add anything to contradict what I just heard?” Dalton asks Roy.

“She went off on me. Started beating the shit out of me.”

“After you stabbed and punched her.” Brady glances at Dalton. “The stabbing was unprovoked. She took him down after that. There was a commotion, and he got free and started hitting her. That’s when she went off on him.” He smiles. “It was awesome.”

No, it wasn’t. I lost control. I don’t say that now. I’ve been a cop long enough to know this is a situation I discuss with my superior officer . . . alone.

“Feel free to correct him,” Dalton says to Roy.

“You’re listening to a murdering—?”

“Feel free to correct him.”

Roy glowers.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Dalton returns to the main room and comes back with a handcuff strap. He tosses it to Kenny. “Let him chill in the icehouse until I feel like talking to him. Better grab him a parka, too. It’ll be a while.”





17





Dalton deals with the mob. None of them may have thrown a punch, but in Rockton, witnessing a crime and doing nothing about it is a punishable offense. This law of Dalton’s wouldn’t fly down south, but up here, with such a small police force, we can reasonably expect better.

I’ve let Storm in, and I’m consoling her while Dalton chews out the mob. When Jen comes in with the first-aid container, I point to the back porch. She hesitates, but I march her out.

“Here’s—” she begins, holding out the kit.

I thrust the discarded petition at her. “You set this up. You knew Eric and Will were both gone. You chose that moment to hit me with this.”

“Yes, I did. I wanted to talk to you alone because you’re the only person who actually listens to me.”

“You took advantage of that to distract me while the others—”

“What? My petition was for a public inquiry, not a trial. Sure as hell not a lynch mob.”

“Bullshit. You kicked Storm, knowing that was a guaranteed distraction—”

“No.” Guilt flits over her face as looks at the dog. “I’m genuinely sorry about that. If Eric wants to come up with a punishment for animal abuse, I’ll take it. I kicked her, and that was uncalled for. My past experience with dogs isn’t an excuse. I reacted badly.” She eases back and eyes me. “I think you know something about that, considering those scars on your arms and the way you went after Roy.”

“That—”

“In your case, it was justifiable anger. Mine was not.”

She’s being reasonable, and I’m not sure how to handle that. I feel as if I’m being set up, and I’d prefer the old Jen, someone to snap back at me, someone I can rightly vent my rage on.

“You guys need to do something about Roy.” Before I can snarl a response, she lifts her hands. “Yeah, I know, you don’t need me giving you more work right now, but he’s a nutjob.”

“We’ve had a few run-ins with him already. He has issues with authority.”