Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(78)

She starts climbing into the rear seats.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” says a voice behind us.

We turn to see Phil.

“Fucking hell,” Dalton mutters as he bears down on Phil.

I step between the two men. “Hey, Phil. You’re up. Good. I went by your house to talk to you, but it was dark. Not surprising at four in the morning. We’re running April to Dawson, and then we’re going to do a bit of online—”

“No, you are not.”

“We’ll be quick,” I say. “We just need to look up a few things—”

“You know that’s not what I mean, Detective. You are not taking your sister home.”

“We’ve discussed this,” I say. “I promised she’d be back in Vancouver for work tomorrow. She’s been fully debriefed, just like any departing resident.”

“Your sister is a suspect in this crime.”

“That is ridiculous,” April says, getting out of the plane. “I was in the clinic with witnesses at the time we received word that Casey was bringing Marshal Garcia, wounded. I followed the first responders and arrived on the scene with them.”

“After them,” he corrected. “You arrives shortly after them. Even if you were not the shooter, that doesn’t address the allegation that you led Marshal Garcia here. That he was following you.”

April starts to sputter.

“The possibility of that is extremely low,” I say.

“Low?” April says. “I am not a criminal—”

“Extremely low,” I repeat. “How Mark Garcia arrived here is something we plan to investigate in Dawson. Eric has a theory.”

“As long as there is any chance your sister led him here, she cannot leave.”

“If she led him here, why would she want to leave?” I say. “If she was somehow, very coincidentally, in danger when I just happened to offer her safe haven, why would she leave now?”

“She is not leaving,” Phil says. “Until the council agrees to her departure, she must remain in Rockton. That is the price you pay for bringing her in behind their backs. They are not letting her leave the same way. They warned me to watch for this, and when I saw you both heading toward the hangar at daybreak, I knew what you were doing.”

“Great,” I say. “So you tried to stop us and failed. Tell them whatever story you want. We will fully support it. This is entirely our fault. You did the right thing. We’re the ones who disobeyed. Now, we’ll be back before sundown—”

Phil pulls a gun from his pocket and points it at Dalton. Dalton’s eyes narrow, and he advances on Phil.

“Is that how we’re playing things?” Dalton says. “Every time you want us to do something, you’re going to pull that fucking gun? Is that how you do it down south, Phil?”

“I—”

“No, it’s not. You wouldn’t dare. Down south people deserve basic respect. Up here we’re just a bunch of savages who need a gun waved in our faces before we’ll listen to you.”

I’m holding myself still, heart slamming into my ribs, barely able to hear Dalton’s words as he walks straight toward that gun.

Please don’t do this, Eric. Step back. I know you’re making a point, one you need to make, but please, please don’t.

The only thing that stops me is seeing Phil’s index finger, held far from the trigger. I see that, and I see the gun, and a safety switch flicks on in my head, allowing my thoughts to zoom down another track.

Dalton stops in front of Phil. “There? Does that help? You wouldn’t want to miss your target when you shoot me for doing my damn job.”

“I—”

“That’s what I’m doing, Phil. The council is fucked. You’re here, and Val’s dead, and the council hasn’t gotten its shit together, and it seems in no hurry to do that. When we ask to speak to someone, we get some old lady who doesn’t even seem to have the power to make an executive decision. Meanwhile, we have a dead U.S. Marshal and a resident with a bullet in his fucking back—a bullet fired by your goddamned predecessor. So what am I doing here? Disobeying orders? No. The damned council hasn’t even told me what your position is, so I’m sure as hell not taking orders from you. I’m returning this doctor to the south—as promised—and I’m helping my detective pursue this case. That’s my fucking job. So if you want to kill me for doing it . . .”

“I’m not going to kill you, Eric.”

“You’re holding a fucking gun on me!” Dalton booms, loud enough to make Phil jump. My heart stops as I watch Phil’s trigger finger. That finger doesn’t move, though. If anything, it shifts further back.

“The intention of that weapon is to kill me,” Dalton says. “If you pull that trigger, it won’t matter if you’re shooting my shoulder or shooting over my shoulder, you are a dead man.”

Phil’s mouth opens. Then he follows Dalton’s gaze to me, standing with my gun pointed.

“If you fire, she fires,” Dalton says. “She’s not going to wait until she sees where you aimed.”

“Just ask Val,” I say.

Dalton winces at that, but it has the desired effect. All the blood drains from Phil’s face.