Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(70)

I laugh softly. “I’ve never actually seen that last one, unfortunately.”

“Me neither. That’s why I’m an atheist. There are always ‘what if’ scenarios, Casey. You know that. You also know that you had to shoot Val. Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.”

“I know.” I give his hand another squeeze before dropping it. “So how are you doing? We haven’t had much time to talk.”

“Doing okay. Too busy to do much thinking. Or much drinking, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You know it’s not.”

“It’s not really what you’re asking, but it kinda always is, a little. You worry. I appreciate that. I’m doing fine. Could use some downtime to sit and process, you know? When this is over, I propose a day of spelunking. Leave Eric behind and just get out, take some time to clear our heads.”

Before I came to Rockton, Anders used to sneak off to do exactly that. Go caving by himself. Spend time in the absolute darkness and the absolute silence. Spend time being himself, dealing with what he’s seen, what he’s done. These days, I’ve convinced him to take me—at least for safety—and he does.

I nod. “We’ll do that.”

“Onward then?” He waves ahead. “Are we ready for this?”

“Ready to see two bodies that have been left to the elements and scavengers for four days? Who isn’t ready for that?”

He smiles and shakes his head.

“You don’t have to be,” I say. “Ready, that is. You can skip this.”

“I volunteered. Had to argue to get the job too, with you and Eric so eager to protect my delicate sensibilities.”

“We just—”

“I know. Now let’s get these bodies home.”

He waves for me to lead the way. I do steel myself as I walk through into the clearing. It’s not the condition of the bodies that will bother me. I’ve seen worse. Saw it on my very first day in Rockton, with a mangled corpse.

But Anders is right. This isn’t about seeing a body. It’s about seeing Val. Seeing a woman I knew, a woman I tried to help, a woman I shot, slumped on the earth, brains splattering the trees, blood soaking the earth, body ravaged by the elements and every hungry beast that has passed this way.

Oh, yeah. I knew exactly what I was about to see. I could picture it in vivid technicolor detail.

I still had to see it, though. Had to face it. Anders is right in that, too. I signed up for this, and that’s not saying I wanted this—it’s saying that I accepted the very real possibility that Blaine Sorrentino wouldn’t be the only ghost hovering in my mind’s darkest corners. That he might not even loom the largest.

He still does, though. For now. I can take comfort in that. That seems an odd word to use, but it is comforting in its way. Val’s death weighs lighter than Blaine’s. The hostiles I had to shoot in combat weigh lighter still. Things like this should not be compared on a scale, but they are, for people like me. For people like Anders. Those who’ve had to kill. And those who’ve killed when they didn’t have to.

Val falls on the middle of that scale, yet she does slide just enough to the “had to” side that there’s no danger of me slipping back into that dark hole where I had been after Blaine. This is a temporary hollow, where I’ll lie for a while, bruised but still able to function.

I take a deep breath, pull back a pine bough and . . .

The clearing is empty.

I pause. Then I step through and look around. Anders walks in behind me.

“Wrong place?” he says.

“I . . . No, I’m sure it’s not. Brady and I came down this path. Eric held that bough back for me as we left. It’s broken, see?” I point to where the branch hangs, base cracked, needles already brittle.

I turn around. “I had Brady. I stood right here.” I walk over, the memories rushing back. “I heard a voice behind me, and I turned. Eric was standing there. Val had led him in at gun point. She mocked him. She’d lain on the path, and he’d rushed to help, never thinking to draw his gun, never thinking it was a trap.”

“He saw her hurt, and he ran to help.”

I nod. “She mocked him for it. For being a decent person.”

“Bitch.”

I nod. I’m sorry, Val. I’m sorry that you had a shitty life. I’m sorry it broke something in you. I’m sorry you grew up cold and empty. But I’m not sorry I shot you. I had to. There was nothing good in you, and I could not trust you to let him go.

I walk around the small clearing, checking each spot before I put my foot down. Anders stays where he is, awaiting orders. Yes, Dalton sometimes not-too-subtly pokes him for being a “good soldier,” but that also means Anders is a good cop. Dalton and I have no problem taking charge. We don’t need our deputy fighting for the reins. Right now, I don’t want Anders poking about, trying to find clues and prove he’s a detective. He’s not. So he’ll stay out of the way, and the moment I need him, all I have to do is ask.

“The only predator that’ll drag off prey whole is a cougar,” I say. “And our forest isn’t exactly teeming with those.”

We’re north of their traditional territory. There’s been one female, and she’s a man-eater. She also had cubs up here a few years ago. I had to kill one a few weeks ago. Another death to weigh on my conscious, one I’d rather have avoided.