Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(2)

But I don’t snap. I don’t even feel the urge. With April, I am forever that little girl scrabbling up a mountain to get her attention. Forever trying to win her approval.

“I haven’t touched my inheritance,” I say evenly. “As I tried to explain on the phone, I need your medical assistance. For a friend who’s been shot in the back.”

She slowly pivots to stare at me. “What kind of trouble are you in, Casey?”

“None. Someone else—”

“A friend of yours has been shot, and you’re coming to me instead of taking him to a hospital? Did you shoot him?”

I flinch. I can’t help it. Thirteen years ago, I shot and killed a man. But April knows nothing of that, and it has nothing to do with the current situation.

Before I can answer, she turns away again. “Get this man to a hospital. Drop him off at the door if you need to. Then go away, Casey. Just . . . “ Another hand flutter over her shoulder. “Go away again. Please.”

Dalton strides past and plants himself in her path. “Your sister is talking to you. Turn the hell around and listen to her.”

Her gaze flicks over him. Then she looks back at me. “Tell your fuck-toy to move, Casey.”

“Hey!” I say my voice high, part outrage and part shock. My sister is never vulgar. Even the mention of sex usually has her flushing bright red.

She looks up at Dalton. “Yes, that’s what you are. If you haven’t realized it yet, take a tip from me. My sister doesn’t date men. She just screws them.”

“Huh,” Dalton says. “Well, then I don’t know who I’ve been living with for the past six months, but I guess it’s not your sister. Or maybe I’m just special.” He looks over at me. “Tell me I’m special.”

I mouth an apology, but he dismisses it with a head shake. My sister isn’t far off, as he knows. Until Dalton, I hadn’t had a “boyfriend” since I was eighteen, and the reason for that had nothing to do with personal preference and everything to do with the fact that the guy I shot and killed was my last boyfriend.

April tries to walk around Dalton. He blocks her. He has his hands in his pockets, a clear signal that he will not physically stop her, but he’s not about to let her pass him easily either.

“This isn’t about me,” he says. “It’s about your sister. Who needs your help, and believe me, she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.”

April opens her mouth. Then a woman in a nurse’s uniform enters the garage, and April straightens so fast I swear her spine crackles.

“Yes, I understand,” she says, in her most business-like voice. “Let’s discuss this outside.”

She leads us through a side door to a grassy area. It’s empty, but she surveys it twice to be sure.

“If you wish to speak to me, I can spare . . .” She checks her watch. “Ten minutes. Then I have a salon appointment.”

Dalton snorts a laugh before catching her expression. “Fuck, you’re serious.” He shakes his head. “Are you sure you two are related?”

“Yes, we are,” April says coldly. “We simply don’t share the same sense of responsibility.”

“Yeah,” Dalton says. “You could learn a few things from Casey.”

She looks at me. “Please tell your guard dog he’s using up your ten minutes.”

I explain Kenny’s situation, as fast as I can. I’m a homicide detective, but I grew up in a family of doctors and had been expected to take a career in medicine, so I know enough to give April a decent assessment of the damage and the treatment so far.

“You have doctors treating him,” she says.

“No, we have me, plus an army veteran who received some medic training, and a psychiatrist with an MD but no on-job experience.”

“This man needs a doctor. A hospital.”

“The situation . . .” I glance at Dalton.

He nods, telling me to continue.

“The situation is not criminal,” I say. “Let me clear that up right now. I’ve been working in a remote community. Very remote. We’re more than willing to take the patient to a hospital, but he refuses to leave. He fears that if he goes, he won’t be allowed back. The community is . . . a safe haven.”

“Witness protection?”

“Something like that. It’s complicated. That’s all I can say, April. I am not asking you to do anything illegal. I wouldn’t.”

She’s eased back, her guard still up but flexing. “I can’t go on site, Casey. I can recommend someone, but you really should get him to a hospital.”

“We know that. And we aren’t asking you to go on site. Just consult. The two guys working with him are excellent medics. Steady hands. Steady minds.” I force a tiny smile. “Which was always what Mom and Dad said made a good surgeon.”

She flinches, and I realize maybe I shouldn’t bring up our parents. She was always much closer to them than I was.

“We just need a consult,” I say. “Lead them through the process of removing the bullet.”

“Fine. We’ll go to my place and video link them in.”

“It’s not a video link.” I reach into my bag and hand her a satellite phone.

She stares at it. Then she looks at me. “You’re kidding, right?”