Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(51)

He offers a weak smile. “I was an activist poseur. Stupid as hell, but it made her happy, and when Cindy was happy, I was happy.”

“So what happened?” I ask.

“Deja vu all over again, to quote . . .” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t even remember who said that. Sorry, I’m trying to play this cool, so maybe we can all forget I tried to kill myself tonight. That’s just not . . .” He looks at me. “Does anyone else know about the overdose?”

“Will and my sister assisted us. Anyone else only knows it was a medical emergency.”

“Could we not tell people? It’s just . . . It’s not the image . . .” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m supposed to be defending myself against attempted murder, not worrying what people will think of me.”

“Paul?” Daltons says.

“Sorry, boss. So, deja vu. A year later. Another protest. Another attack on Cindy. We’re in there, shouting and whatever, and it’s chaos. I look over to see her go flying, just like that first day. I go off on the guy who did it, even more than I did the first time, because now this is my girlfriend he’s attacking. I beat him until Cindy’s friends pull me off. That’s when I discover she wasn’t attacked by another neo-Nazi asshole. It was a federal cop, who pushed her by accident. He got hit, and he stumbled into her. That’s it. He had the jacket on, the one that said he was a cop, and I never noticed it. I just saw Cindy go flying. I beat the shit out of a federal officer. The moment I realized what I did, I made the next biggest possible mistake. I bolted.”

“You fled the scene,” I say.

“Oh, yeah. Ran like the devil himself was on my heels. I walked five miles to our hotel room—we were in DC for the protest—and when I arrived, there were cops waiting. They grabbed Cindy and her friends, and someone gave me up. I saw the cops, and I got out of there. The group helped me. I don’t know if that was the right move. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. But it’s not like they were experts. I should have gotten a lawyer. Instead I panicked and ran. Someone connected to Cindy’s group knew about Rockton, as a place for political asylum, and they figured I qualified. That’s how I ended up here.”

“And the officer?” I ask.

His brow furrows.

“Did you kill the guy?” Dalton says.

Paul’s eyes widen. “No. I broke a couple of ribs and fractured his orbital socket or something like that. He made a full recovery and was back to work in a month.” He hurries on. “Which doesn’t diminish what I did. Jostling Cindy was unintentional. He was a federal officer doing his job keeping the peace, and I put him in the hospital. I know now I should have stayed and muddled through. Running made it worse. I became a federal fugitive.”

He pushes up straighter in bed. “I didn’t face the music three years ago, so I’m doing it now. Just let me talk to this marshal. I probably can’t convince him to let me stay—not after all this—but I want him to know exactly what happened before he takes me. I want him to know I’m not some maniac who attacked a federal agent.”

I glance at Dalton. He shakes his head.

“He’s dead,” I say. “The marshal . . . has succumbed to his injuries.”

“What?”

I repeat it. It takes at least a minute for the news to penetrate. When it does, Paul hovers there, like he’s waiting for more.

Then, slowly, he slumps onto the bed. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “I should be glad, shouldn’t I? Not that he’s dead, of course. He was just like that agent I beat up. A guy doing his job. But as shitty as that is, and as guilty as I’ll feel, it means I’m safe. Except . . .”

He swallows, and he looks up at me. “I was kind of glad. Happy I’d been caught. Part of me always wanted to be. Right from the start. When I went back to the hotel and saw those cops, I wanted to turn myself in. I kept hoping someone would talk me into it, hoping Cindy would tell me she loved me and she’d see me through this and once it was over, we’d be together.”

He gives a short laugh. “That was my fantasy. I’d made a mistake, but I’d redeem myself and win the girl. Instead, she told me I had to run, for the sake of the cause. She wished me all the best. A kiss-off. That’s what it was. Thanks for saving me, Paul. Thanks for protecting me. Now get the hell away from me.”

He shifts in the bed. “Now I had the chance to fix it. I panicked, like after I beat up that officer. That’s why I took the pills. But when I woke up, I was relieved. Relieved that I was alive and relieved that I could turn myself in. I know that sounds crazy. But I just wanted to be caught. And now this poor guy is dead—because of me. And I get to go free. That’s not fair. Not fair at all.”





TWENTY-ONE

I’m behind the station with Dalton. Isabel and April came to take care of the patients, and we ended up here, on the back deck. Dalton takes my hand and sits, and he pulls me down with him. I’m sitting there, his arms around me as I lean back against his chest.

“That’s what you felt like, isn’t it?” he says.

I don’t ask what he means. I know. He’s asking if I wanted to be caught for the murder of Blaine Saratori. If, while I’d been unable to turn myself in, there’d been some part of me hoping I’d be found out. Hoping I’d face justice.