City of the Lost (Casey Duncan #1)(91)

“You only f*cked up in not telling me, Eric.”

We fade into silence. Finally he looks toward the steps. “I’ve kept you longer than five minutes.”

I could say yes, and he’ll go, but there’s that look in his eyes, the same one he had the night I stitched him up, when he was hoping I’d give him an excuse to avoid going back to that oppressive house with Beth. Now he faces an equally oppressive one in his own empty house. Alone with his thoughts, like me in that cavern. Alone in the darkness.

“I have homemade herbal tea,” I say. “A gift from the greenhouse folks, for solving the tomato case. I haven’t actually worked up the nerve to try it. But if you’re willing to be my guinea pig …”

The faintest tweak of his lips, not nearly a smile. “I am.”

“Then you start the fire and the kettle. I’ll grab a sweater and blankets, and we’ll sit on the deck.”





Three



We’ve been out there for about twenty minutes, silently watching the fox hunt mice.

“You do have to consider me,” he says, breaking the silence. “As a suspect. Anyone could be a killer if you push the right triggers.”

I hug my legs closer and say nothing.

“You don’t believe that,” he says.

“I’ve heard the theory. It’s been used in serial killer defences.”

“Yeah, I know.” He catches my look and says, “I read up on serial killers in case we ever get one smuggled in. But the idea that anyone could kill is not an excuse. It’s sure as hell not a defence. It just means you can’t underestimate people. If pushed to the wall, we’re capable of the otherwise unthinkable. It’s the instinct to survive and to protect.”

“And wreak vengeance?” I murmur.

“An instinct for vengeance? Nah. A drive maybe, stronger in some than others.”

“Stronger if that protective instinct is thwarted.”

He peers at me. “What are you thinking?”

“Just … considering.”


Once the clouds clear, it’s a perfect night for the northern lights, the sky lit up with the most amazing show I’ve seen yet. I’m in no rush to sleep—I swear that tea still had caffeine in it. Dalton and I have moved from the deck to my bedroom balcony.

My fox has returned from its prowling, and Dalton’s telling me a Cree story about a fox who outwitted a trickster god. Someone knocks at my front door, the sound echoing in the quiet. I call, “Back here!” and a moment later Anders appears in the yard.

He looks up to where I’m leaning on the balcony railing. He grins, and he’s about to speak when Dalton moves up beside me. Anders’s smile falters, but he finds a softer version of it, with a quiet, “Hey,” and then, “I need to talk to you, Casey. Actually, both of you.”

I look over the railing, measuring the distance to the ground.

“No,” Dalton says.

“You don’t think I can jump it?”

He snorts. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to say that, so you can prove me wrong? Get your ass down the stairs.”

I climb onto the railing.

“Did I just give you an order?” he says.

“I’m off duty.”

I jump. He mutters, “Fuck,” as I drop. I hit the ground. As I straighten, Anders smiles and shakes his head. Then his gaze lifts to my balcony.

“You’re still sleeping up there, right?”

I say yes, and there’s a pause, and it’s not until I hear a door close inside, as Dalton walks through the house, that I make the connection. I wave at myself. “Fully dressed.”

“Which doesn’t mean that wasn’t about to change,” he says. “I don’t mean to pry …”

“Nothing to pry at. My balcony is the best place to see the northern lights. It was talk and tea. Not exactly scandalous.” I lower my voice. “And please don’t say anything to him that would suggest otherwise, or it’ll be the last time I’ll get company to watch the lights.”

He smiles. “I’ll volunteer.”

“And you’d just watch the lights with me and expect nothing to come of it?”

“Uh … not expect, but hope? Hell, yeah. Eric’s probably the only guy I know who could sit on your bed, star-gaze and not hope there was more coming.” He leans in and mock-whispers, “You may have heard, he’s a little weird.”

“What’s that?” Dalton asks as he steps onto the deck.

“Will says I’m a little weird,” I say.

He snorts. “I’m not disagreeing after that stunt.”

I shake my head and say to Anders, “What’s up?”

“Just a situation that could require a woman’s touch. Mick didn’t go home after work tonight. He was tired, so Isabel said she’d close up. She sent him home at eleven. He wasn’t there when she got back, and she’s concerned. Considering we’ve had three murders, I don’t feel right dismissing it.”

“Is anyone else not where they should be?” I ask, as casually as I can.

“Hmm?” Anders says.

Dalton gives me his dissection table look. Then he says for me, “Have we had any other reports of trouble? Anyone seen heading for the woods?”