I race for the door, and I don’t even have it open before I hear voices. I throw open the door to see a half dozen people bearing down on Brady’s cell.

“What the hell?” I say.

The guy in the lead—a new resident named Roy—points at me. “You, stay back.”

“What the fuck?” I barrel in. “You do not ever tell me to do anything. Get the hell out of here. All of you.”

Everyone except Roy stops. They don’t leave, though. They just stop. He keeps going, barging into the cell room.

“Talk to me,” Brady says, gripping the bars. “Please just talk to me.”

I march past the mob. “Roy? You have ten seconds to get out of there or you are under arrest.”

“Yeah?”

He steps up to me. He’s at least six-two and probably two hundred and fifty pounds. It’s not muscle, but he’s still more than twice my size.

“Try that again, girlie,” he says.

I reach for my gun. Then I stop. I see myself pulling it. I see myself pointing it. I see him laughing. And then I see Blaine, hear him laugh. A drop of sweat trickles down my hairline. I leave my gun holstered.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he says. “Get out of my way.”

I cannot get angry. Cannot get defensive. Cannot show this asshole what a mistake he’s making, because if I do, I know how this ends up. With a bullet through his chest.

At a noise behind me, I glance to see Petra. Her eyes still blaze with that fire from earlier, and I put up a hand to stop her.

“Go get the boys, please,” I say. “We seem to have a situation.”

She stands her ground. I meet her gaze. She nods, abruptly, and then shoulders past the others.

“Yeah,” Roy says. “Run and get ‘the boys.’ Their girlie needs some help.”

“What do you want?” I say.

It’s Brady who responds first. “These people see what you’re doing to me, the injustice, and they aren’t going to stand for it.”

“Yeah, he’s right,” Roy says. “We see the injustice here. The injustice of being forced to live with a killer.”

“No one said he—” I begin.

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Brady cuts in. “I didn’t shoot those people. I’m being framed.”

“See?” Roy says, his voice rising for the others. “Told you it was murder. Multiple murders, like I said. That’s the only reason they’d build him his own private jail. He’s a fucking psychopath.”

“What? Wait,” Brady says. “No. I didn’t—”

“We want a trial,” Roy says. “Now.”

“How?” I say. “He didn’t commit any crimes here.”

“See?” Brady says. “I haven’t done any—”

“Shut. Up.” I glower at him. “These men aren’t here to set you free, you idiot.”

“Hell, yeah. We’ll set him free,” Roy says. “Swinging from the end of a rope.”

“Are you fucking nuts?” It’s Jen, shoving her way through.

“What the hell?” Brady says. “Did he say—”

“It’s called a lynch mob,” I say. “But if you want them to let you out and give you a trial, just let me know.”

I turn to Roy. “Get the hell out of my station.”

“Your station?” He snorts. “You’re the sheriff’s playmate, little girl. Now hand over those keys and let us clean up his mess.”

“I’m going to count to three. When I finish, if you’re still here, you’ll be sharing the cell with this guy, and I really don’t think you want that.”

He laughs. Then he lunges. I duck, grab him by the arm, and throw him down. He hits the floor with a thud. I’m on him in a blink, pinning his arm behind his back.

“Holy shit,” Brady says.

“I’m making the same offer to everyone else,” I call. “Three seconds to get out. Which doesn’t mean I won’t remember all your faces.”

Two leave as Roy rants and writhes beneath me. A guy named Cecil sidles into the cell room.

“Just let him go, Casey,” he says. “We don’t need to get Eric involved.”

Jen laughs, “Seriously? Hell, yeah, Casey, just let that asshole walk away. No harm, no foul.” She moves up to Cecil. “You cowardly piece of shit.”

“Cecil, get out of here,” I say. “You—”

I notice the knife at the last second. I’m distracted, pinning Roy’s arm, his other one free to pull a penknife from his pocket. I see his arm move. I see the knife flash. But I’m too late to stop it, and it rams into my jacket. It gets caught there, and only the tip sinks into my side, but my reaction gives him the leverage he needs to throw me off. Before I can recover, he plows his fist into my jaw.

I fly backward. Jen lets out a squawk of alarm. Outside, Storm is going crazy barking. I barely hear her, just like I barely notice the remaining mob surge forward. I see only that knife coming at me again.

I am on the floor, pain throbbing through me, looking up at Roy, and I don’t see him—I see four thugs in an alley. It’s like I’m back there, and it’s happening again, only this time I know what’s coming. This time, I will not go down under a hail of blows and kicks. This time, it’s one guy, and I am prepared, and he is going to pay.

Roy slashes at me. I catch his arm, and I wrench. He drops the knife. I kick it away, and then I throw him down. He falls and I’m on him, my fists and boots slamming into him.

A hand lands on my shoulder. I wheel, fist flying up. I see Jen’s face. See her eyes widen. I manage to divert my blow, but then Cecil has me by the collar, dragging me off Roy, saying, “Hey, that’s enough.”

“Fucking hell it is,” Jen says.

She goes at him, and I see Roy crawling for the knife. I lunge and land on it, and he slams his fist into the side of my head.

I grab the knife from under me and flip over, brandishing it, and he lunges at me with a snarl . . . just as Kenny and Sam race in. They manage to haul him back.

I’m getting to my feet when I see Brady out of the corner of my eye. He’s grinning. When he catches my glance, he shoots me a thumbs-up.

“That was fucking awesome,” he says. “I gotta say, I’ve been complaining about the entertainment here, and you guys delivered. Hey, big guy, that ‘little girl’ kicked your ass, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I say as I rise. “Kenny? Secure—” Blood trickles into my mouth. I wipe it away. “Secure Roy. And—” I hear the slap of the front door. “Hey! No one leaves—”

The thunder of running boots cuts me short. Dalton barrels through with, “What the hell is going . . .” He sees me, staggering, blood dripping.

His eyes go wide. Then he pulls himself up short and wheels on the remaining mob. “You heard Casey. None of you fucking moves. Anyone who does will spend the rest of the year on shit duty.”

“We—” one begins.

“You witnessed an officer being assaulted, and you stood and fucking watched it happen. I don’t want to hear a word from any of you. Sit on the floor. Shut your mouths. And pray that when it comes time to pass sentence, I’m not half as pissed off as I am right now. Sam? Get out there and watch them.”

As soon as Sam leaves the cell room, Dalton kicks the door shut with, “Better if I don’t see their fucking faces right now.”

He strides to me.

“I’m fine,” I say. Which is a lie. I’m seeing double, my nose is streaming blood, and my lip is split. But I’m upright, and that’s the important thing. I’d seen the look in Roy’s eyes when he came at me with that knife, and I know I got off easy.

Dalton takes my chin in his hand, and he’s checking my injuries when I catch his eye and shake my head. His lips tighten. He knows what I mean. It’s what stopped him on his way in—made him tend to the mob before me. The job comes first, as long as I’m standing.

“Where’s Will?” he asks Jen.

I answer, “Hatchet mishap with the lumber party. Nothing serious.”

He grunts and tells Jen to get the backup first-aid kit from the clinic. She takes off. Then he strides into the next room, without a word to anyone there, and returns with a wet cloth. He hands it to me, and I press it against my lip as he walks to Roy.

“What the fuck happened here?” Dalton asks.

Roy blinks, as if surprised he’s asking him first.

Before Roy can answer, Brady says, “These rednecks formed themselves a lynch mob, Sheriff. Took advantage of you and the deputy being gone and tried to storm the station. Your detective stopped him. He pulled a knife on her. Knocked her around. But she took him down. Too bad she wasn’t carrying her sidearm.”

“She’s got her fucking sidearm,” Dalton says, his gaze on Roy. “She knew she didn’t need to use it on a useless piece of shit like you.”

“I wanted to try him,” Roy says. “A trial. Not a lynch—”

“You said you were going to string me up,” Brady says. “We call that a lynching where I come from.”

“Can you add anything to contradict what I just heard?” Dalton asks Roy.

“She went off on me. Started beating the shit out of me.”

“After you stabbed and punched her.” Brady glances at Dalton. “The stabbing was unprovoked. She took him down after that. There was a commotion, and he got free and started hitting her. That’s when she went off on him.” He smiles. “It was awesome.”

No, it wasn’t. I lost control. I don’t say that now. I’ve been a cop long enough to know this is a situation I discuss with my superior officer . . . alone.

“Feel free to correct him,” Dalton says to Roy.

“You’re listening to a murdering—?”

“Feel free to correct him.”

Roy glowers.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Dalton returns to the main room and comes back with a handcuff strap. He tosses it to Kenny. “Let him chill in the icehouse until I feel like talking to him. Better grab him a parka, too. It’ll be a while.”