Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(60)

That’s not true. We told her more about the situation than Dalton was comfortable revealing. She just thought we were exaggerating. Typical Casey, being dramatic. I don’t say anything though. Even admitting that she came of her accord is progress, and I’ll take it.

“Are they going to let me leave?” she asks.

I want to say of course they will. She came here in good faith. She came to help us. She’s my sister, and she knows nothing about Rockton that she cannot know. I would never—ever—have let her come if I thought there was any chance she couldn’t leave.

But now, as she says the words, ice nestles in my gut. It’s like when our parents would tell me not to take a shortcut to school because ten years earlier, a girl had been assaulted there. I wanted to laugh and say they were being ridiculous. That girl had been attacked by a family friend who stalked her, and since then, the city had added lights and removed shrubs, making it safer than the streets. Yet once they put that idea in my mind, my heart pounded every time I took that shortcut. Every shadow made me jump.

“The council can’t keep you here,” I say firmly.

“They’re keeping Diana. I heard that. She wanted to leave, and they won’t let her.”

“That is a very long and complicated conversation, April. One I’m happy to have someday, but I have a feeling it won’t interest you.”

“Why not?”

Because it’s about me. Because nothing in my life has ever interested you, and you’ve made that abundantly clear.

“Diana made a commitment to stay here for two years. She wanted to renege on that, and under most situations, they’d allow her to do so. This is different, and honestly, as patronizing as it sounds, she’s better off here. If she had to leave, though, I’d get her out. We made you a promise. We will honor that. The council couldn’t keep us from bringing you in. They can’t stop us from taking you out.”

They can just make it very, very difficult. There may be repercussions. But that’s on us. It’s on me. Not you. I made the choice, and I’ll deal with the fallout.

I don’t say that either. She’d hear it as virtue signalling. See what a good person I am, April? It’s not that at all, so I stay silent.

“I’ll talk to Eric. Just let me see what Paul needs first.”

She nods and heads back outside with Kenny. I take a moment to compose myself. After that talk, I want to grab Dalton and run to Phil and make sure there won’t be any problem taking April home. No, I want to grab Dalton and leave with April before anyone can stop us. My sister did me a favor here. The biggest she’s ever granted me, and if any trouble comes to her because of it . . .

Dalton would not have let me bring April if he thought she could be trapped here. We’re fine. Talk to Paul. Talk to Dalton. Get reassurances about April, and then take Dalton to interview Sebastian.

I push open the door. Paul is sitting on the edge of his bed, as if just about to get up.

“Hey, Casey,” he says.

I ask how he’s doing before finding out what he summoned me for. It takes conscious effort for me to do things like this—my natural proclivity is to just jump to the point of the visit. It’s not that I don’t care how he’s doing. But I can see he’s okay, up and around, and I’m here on business. I wonder if that’s how April processes things, too. It’s not that she doesn’t think about others, but just that social niceties seem like a waste of time and energy when there is important work to be done. The problem is that if you skip the niceties—especially as a woman—it comes off as cold, abrupt, even bitchy. I’ve been called all three. I can only imagine what April gets.

When I do get to the point, Paul fusses for a bit before answering. Then he blurts. “I screwed up.”

I lean back against the counter. “I should say no, you didn’t. But if you want that, you’ve come to the wrong person. Attempting suicide was a mistake. An overreaction. I understand the impulse. Everything seems so bleak that you don’t, in that moment, see any other solution. Just . . . ask for help, okay?”

“I know. And I’m embarrassed about the whole thing. But that wasn’t what I meant. I made another mistake, one that added to my guilt and made everything worse. Then, when you saved me, I didn’t want to make the situation worse by admitting . . .” He takes a deep breath and meets my gaze. “I didn’t kill that marshal, but his death may have been my fault.”

“How?”

“I was guarding Roy when you called.”

“Right . . .”

“I was inside the secured house talking to him. I’d just brought his lunch, and I’ve been trying to talk sense into him. He’s an asshole. There’s no two ways about it. Back in my protest days, he’d have been the guy on the other side of the line. Cindy used to say if we could just talk to people like that, we could open their eyes, wake them up. I grew up with guys like Roy, and I know it isn’t that easy, but with Roy, I figured since he’s stuck here with us, maybe he’ll listen to reason. I was wrong.”

I nod and say nothing.

He continues, “And that’s no surprise to you, huh? Yeah, it’s pointless, but I still tried. I told him about this marshal guy. I was trying to impress on him how tough a job you guys have with law enforcement. How hard you work to keep us safe, and the last thing you need is garden-variety assholes like him making it worse. I talked to him about that when I brought his breakfast. Then I brought his lunch, and he wanted an update. I gave it, and we were chatting—sports stuff—when you called. I took off to get Will and . . .” He takes a deep breath. “When I came back later, Roy’s door wasn’t locked.”