City of the Lost (44 page)

“Hell, yeah.”

“Then tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”

I grin. “I like the sound of
that.
”

“Casey?” a voice calls. It’s Beth, coming through my bedroom door. I scramble off Dalton so fast I nearly double over in pain.

“Goddamn it,” he says, catching me and aiming a glare through the balcony glass.

“You forgot to lock the front door,” I say.

“Doesn’t do any fucking good.”

The morning sun must be casting a glare on the glass, because Beth opens the balcony doors, squinting with a tentative, “Casey?” Then she sees Dalton and recoils fast.

“Does anyone in this goddamn town know how to knock?” he says, brushing past her as he stalks inside to grab his shirt.

“I did,” she says. “No one answered—”

“Then take the hint.” He yanks on the shirt and heads for the door. “Check Casey out. I’ll start the coffee.”

He’s gone, and she’s staring after him. Then she turns to me, and I feel like I’m sixteen, caught with a boy in my room.

“Sorry,” I say. “He was, uh, staying to make sure I was okay. We went outside to see the, uh, fox.”

I shouldn’t need to make excuses. But Beth’s staring at me, and all I can think about is her warning me away from Dalton. I consider her a friend, and it feels wrong to get caught like this when I haven’t breathed a word of it to her. Except there hasn’t been a word to breathe. Whatever I felt, I’ve never been the sort to confide in friends that way. Let’s be honest—I’ve never needed to, because I’ve never felt like this.

“The stitches seem fine,” I say, as if that’s an excuse.
See, we didn’t actually have sex
.

I go inside and let her examine me. She doesn’t say a word. When Dalton comes with coffee, I’m sitting on the bed in my bra and panties. He kicks open the door, his hands full, and Beth jumps to say, “Casey’s—” but he notices my state of undress and walks in anyway, and I guess that answers any lingering question.

This is the first time he’s seen quite so much of me, and while it shouldn’t be the circumstances I want, it actually is, because nothing can put a damper on a hot-and-heavy moment faster than pulling off a girl’s clothing to see scar tissue.

He just walks over and hands me my coffee. Then he sits in his chair until Beth goes to wet a cloth for the dried blood. He waits until he hears her footsteps on the stairs, then he’s there, leaning over to kiss me, his hands running up my sides, and normally, when guys do that, they make some effort to avoid the scars. Dalton runs his hands over me, everywhere, as we kiss. Then Beth’s footsteps sound on the stairs again and he’s back in his chair before she comes in.

When she finishes her checkup, Dalton asks before I do, “How long until I get my detective back on her feet?” and Beth hesitates, as if she suspects this isn’t really what he’s asking.

“I should be up and around today,” I say. “Everything’s healing. I’d like some non-opiate painkillers, but otherwise I’m good to go.”

“I’d rather you wait another day, Casey,” Beth says.

“I feel fine.” Which is a lie, but I have a high pain threshold and low sitting-on-my-ass threshold.

“Stay in bed this morning,” Dalton says. “Get up after lunch. See how it goes.”

“Nothing too strenuous, though,” Beth says.

“Sure,” I say. Dalton sneaks me a quirk of a smile behind Beth’s back. I cross my fingers, and he chuckles. She turns at the sound, but he’s stone-faced again, sipping his coffee.

“Casey has something she wants to talk to you about,” he says. “I’m going to let her do that while I make a few stops. I’ll bring back breakfast for the patient.”

He walks over and brushes his lips across my forehead, and I guess that means we definitely aren’t hiding. Dalton isn’t the sneaking-in-shadows type, and I understand that better now—he has so much he conceals that the rest is on the table, take it or leave it, no excuses.

He leaves. I get dressed, and I’m sliding into bed when Beth says, “I don’t mean to pry, Casey…”

Then don’t
is what I want to say. But I know she means well.

“Yes, you warned me,” I say. “And I had no intention of anything happening with Eric. It just … did.”

“It shouldn’t have.” Her voice is sharper than I expect, and when I look over, her face is drawn with worry. “I’m sorry, Casey. I hate to interfere, but this is a bad idea.”

I prop up on my pillows. “You’re concerned for him. I get that. But I would never do anything to hurt Eric.”

“It’s not Eric I’m worried about.”

That surprises me, and I look over to see those worry lines etched deeper.

“Eric is a friend,” she says. “And as a friend, I only want the best for him. But I consider you a friend, too, Casey, and there are things about Eric … It’s not as simple as it seems.
He’s
not as simple as he seems.”

“I know.”

Her look sharpens to impatience then. “You can say that, but you really don’t. I have his medical file. There are aspects to his past…” She straightens. “There are things in his past that he does not talk about. Absolutely does not. I attempted to broach it once, and he shut me down so fast I nearly got whiplash.”

His medical files. Of course. He may have had health issues when he arrived in Rockton. If there is one record of Dalton’s past, that’s where it would be.

“If you mean how he got to Rockton…” I say carefully.

“That he’s lived here all his life?” She shakes her head. “He hasn’t, Casey, and I can’t tell you any more than that, except that what happened to him before that means he’s a deeply damaged man and—”

“I know.”

“You don’t. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be harsh, but—”

“His files show that he wasn’t born in Rockton,” I say. “They tell where he
was
born. How he lived as a child. How he ended up here.”

She has her mouth open as if she was ready to argue before I got a word out. Now she stares at me, open-mouthed, and says, “He told you,” and I see her expression, and I wish to God I’d just kept my damned mouth shut. She’s been his friend for years, and he refused to acknowledge what happened, and now he’s spilling his guts to someone he met a few weeks ago.

She straightens. “Yes, of course. That’s Eric. If he’s going to … get involved with you, he’s going to make sure you know what you’re getting into. He’s a good man, Casey. But he’s also dealing with some serious psychological issues. I think the damage can be fixed. It takes years, though, and as hard as I’ve been trying, I’m not sure I’ve made any inroads.”

“Do they need to be made?” I say, as gently as I can. “I know there’s damage. Hell, I know all about damage. But Eric’s is a different kind. I’m not convinced it’s something that needs to be
fixed
. I think it just needs to be understood.”

“He can’t live this way forever, Casey, stuck up in this town, a thousand miles from everything. It’s not natural.”

“It is for him. He’s happy—”

“No, he’s convinced himself he’s happy. He could do so much more.
Be
so much more.”

I bite my tongue because I can see I’m not going to change her mind. I remember Dalton talking about women from his past trying to “fix” him, and while he’s never been romantically involved with Beth, the dynamics are the same, and that saddens me, because I expected better of her.

No, that’s not fair. She’s a doctor, and it’s her job to fix people. She just doesn’t see that this problem doesn’t need mending, and I can’t tell her so because that would be incredibly egotistical of me—the newcomer who claims to better understand a man Beth has known for years.

So I say, “Maybe. I don’t know. Right now, though, there’s something else I’d like to speak to you about.”

I ask her about schizophrenia. I stick to my hypotheticals. Beth might know about Dalton’s past, but there’d be no reason to mention Jacob in those files.

Unfortunately, Beth doesn’t know much about the condition. Less than I do, it seems. She’s a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist. I make a note that I’ll need to bite the bullet and speak to Isabel instead.

“Do you know anything about ergot poisoning?” I ask next.

She frowns. “I believe it’s connected to a fungus that can infect rye.”

“Right. It’s one of the possible explanations for the hysteria surrounding the Salem witch trials.”

I somehow manage to say this as if I know exactly what I’m talking about. Because, you know, in my old life, I devoted myself to expanding my knowledge of the world, chasing any esoteric tidbit that interested me. Sadly, no … That would be Dalton, the guy who reads about ancient Mongols in his spare time.

Dalton had suggested this theory. Not ergot poisoning specifically, because there’s no rye growing here. But he’d wondered if some environmental poison could be responsible for Jacob’s sudden and violent personality shift.

Dalton had listed off a half-dozen things in the forest that could cause mental confusion and hallucinations. Beth knows nothing about any of them. I’ll add this to the items for Dalton to research when he takes Diana to Dawson City.

We talk for a little longer. The subject of Dalton doesn’t resurface, and I’m relieved. I value Beth as a friend, and by the time she leaves, I feel that’s been put aside, at least for now.

Dalton brings breakfast. He can’t stay long. We’re sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard.

“Fucking council wants me to get my ass to Dawson City.”

“To escort Diana.”

“Yeah.” His tone softens as he looks at me. “About that … how are you doing?”

“Trying very hard not to think about it.”

He nods, and I know what he’s thinking, so I say it for him. “I need to talk to her, don’t I? Try for some closure.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll do it before you leave.”

“Before
we
leave. You’re coming with me. I told the council you have more to research. They agreed to postpone the trip until this afternoon, and then we’ll stay overnight in Dawson City. At the inn. Where no one can barge in the goddamn door.”

“Ah, so that’s your real plan. Not that you value my research skills. You just want sex.”

“Damn straight.”

He tugs me onto his lap. I turn to straddle him, and he smiles and says, “Even better,” and pulls me into a kiss. It takes less than thirty seconds to get both of us shirtless, him fumbling with my bra before giving up and pushing it over my head, and then his hands are on my breasts and damn, that feels—

A distant knock sounds on the front door.

“Ignore it,” Dalton says, still kissing me.

“Planning to.”

I get the button open on his jeans and I’m pulling down the zipper when, “Detective Butler?” It’s my next interview.

Dalton whips my bedside book and knocks my bedroom door shut. I chuckle.

“Casey?” the voice calls from downstairs. “Are you okay?”

“God-fucking-damn—”

I cut Dalton’s curse short with a kiss. I start to roll off him, and he tries to grab me back, but I whisper, “Dawson City. One private room. Eight uninterrupted hours,” as footsteps sound on the stairs.

“Casey?”

“Just a sec!” I call.

Dalton grabs me and tugs me back onto him. “He’ll wait five minutes.”

“Kinda want more than five minutes, sheriff.”

He gives an abashed, “Yeah, sorry. Fuck.”

He rolls off the bed, gives me a quick smack of a kiss, and then grabs his shirt and walks out, still pulling it on, to the sputtered apologies of whoever is in the hall. I wince and shake my head. Apparently we aren’t keeping this a secret from
anyone
.

I put my bra and shirt on, then call, “Come in,” and start my morning of interviews.

I have three interviews scheduled and two additional people show up, not with anything significant to add, but trying to be helpful, and I don’t want to discourage that. When Dalton brings lunch, I’m talking to someone who recalls seeing Mick the night of his death. She spotted him walking toward the woodshed. Yeah, like I said, not useful, but I listen and thank her for her time as Dalton waits impatiently outside the door.

We go downstairs and dine on the back deck. I’m telling Dalton a story about the chase of a seventy-year-old wannabe graffiti artist when Isabel walks around my house.

“Ah,” she says. “That’s what that sound was. Eric laughing. I do believe I’ve never heard it before.”

Dalton shoots her the finger.

She walks over and eyes us, sitting hip to hip, Dalton’s hand on my knee.

“Well, well,” she says. “The rumours are true, then. Interesting.”

“You want something?” he says.

“Good afternoon to you, too, sheriff. No, I don’t want anything from you. I came to speak to Casey about her investigation.”

I tense, and Dalton gets to his feet.

“Down, boy,” she says. “I’m not here to harass your detective.” She lifts a folder she’s carrying. “I found this in Mick’s things, and I thought it might be important.”

I check my watch.

“Yes, you have time for me, Casey,” she says.

“I’m checking Eric’s time.” I turn to him. “It’s almost one. You’d better go take that council call. I’ll handle this.”

He gives Isabel a look.

“I’ll behave myself,” she says.

“You better. Casey’s been stabbed three times. Doesn’t need your shit.” He turns to me. “She gives you a hard time? Radio Will and have her locked in the cell.”

“On what charges?” she asks.

“Pissing me off.”

“Ah, the usual, then.”

When he’s gone, she says, “Well, he’s in a very good mood. I’m glad to see it. I know Will was flitting around, but Eric’s the one for you.”

She steps onto the deck, and I expect her to take one of the chairs, but she gracefully lowers herself to sit beside me on the edge. “Does Beth know about you two?”

“Mmm, yeah. Eric isn’t exactly making a secret of it.”

“Hell, no. He landed the town’s prize catch, and everyone’s going to know it.”

I give her a look.

She smiles. “All right, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and say that’s not the
entire
reason. So how did Beth take it?”

I shrug.

“Not well, but you don’t know me enough—or like me enough—to confide. I’m sure you saw that one coming, though, given how she feels about Eric.”