As I back through that door, I’m torn between wanting to see someone out there . . . and praying no one is. Dalton, yes. Anders, yes. Even some of the militia could be trusted to keep a level head and help me end this. Sam, Nicole, Jen, Kenny . . .

Kenny.

I squelch the reminder.

There is no one outside. Not everyone will be helping with the fire. We aren’t a town of saints or heroes. Given what we actually are—criminals and victims—it is a testament to Rockton that so many put aside fear and self-interest to help. Those who have not, though, certainly aren’t going to come out now, as Brady steps onto the street with a gun at Val’s back.

“If you’re truly innocent—” I begin.

“Trust the system?” Brady gives a harsh laugh. “There is no system here. There’s just my stepfather and a mountain of money. That old man there tells me to remember that you guys saved my life. That’s a lie. You saved an asset. If I die, you lose your share of Mount Fortune.”

“And what would we do with it?” I wave at the town. “We have nothing to spend it on.”

“Sure you do,” he says. “You can spend it on the only thing that matters. Freedom. You’re trapped in this hellhole, same as me. For money, I presume. Like guys who work on oil rigs. No one does that for fun.”

I keep arguing, but I keep moving backward, too, because I know my arguments are pointless. A rich kid like him looks around and sees the wilderness equivalent of a ghetto. No one would choose to live here.

In talking, I’m only hoping that my raised voice brings Dalton or Anders running. It does not. I hear shouts over at the lumber shed, and I know they’re still fighting the fire.

The fire that Brady’s accomplice set.

I want to seize that as proof it isn’t Kenny. He’d been outside the clinic door when it started. But it’s easy to delay a fire. Start it small enough, and it could take an hour or more to be spotted. He’s our carpenter. He’s in charge of the lumber shed. In charge of the firewood stocks.

“Val?” I say.

She looks at me. Her eyes are fixed wide, and I know she’s praying for me to save her. I cannot. Unless something startles Brady, I can’t get the jump on him, and even if he is startled, it’s just as likely he’ll squeeze the trigger accidentally. I must let him take her and hope he is telling the truth. That he will free her.

I tell her that. Reassure her. Do as he says. We’ll be there within the hour. Don’t leave that spot. I’m not sure she hears any of it.

Then I ask what I must ask, as cruel as it seems to speak of anything except her immediate situation.

“Did you tell Kenny he could leave earlier?”

“W-what?” she says.

I repeat the question.

“Tell Kenny he could leave?” she says. “Why?”

“He was guarding the door.”

“No, I—”

Brady prods her in the back. “Enough talking. I know you’re hoping someone will hear us, Detective, but you also know that’s not a good idea. Just let me leave. An hour from now, you’ll have Val back.”

* * *

I ask Mathias and Diana to go home. Diana hesitates, but Mathias says, “Casey fears we will raise the alarm, however unintentionally. Valerie may not be our town’s most popular resident, but if people hear she has been taken hostage, and we are not running to her rescue . . . ?”

“Someone will decide to play hero,” Diana says. “And he’ll shoot Val.” She looks at me. “You did your best, Case. Brady will let Val go—he knows if he doesn’t, you’ll chase him to the end of this damned forest. You can hunt for him as soon as she’s safe. And it’s not like he’s going to get very far. Not alive, anyway. You made the right choice.”

“All completely true,” Mathias says. “But at this moment, Casey does not need reassurances. She needs to inform Eric. And we need to get into our homes and stay there until she requires us.”

“Thank you,” I say.

I take off at a jog, my expression neutral, so no one sees me running in a panic.

When I reach the shed, the fire is almost out. I can’t see much damage from here. Just spirals of smoke that people with blankets are desperately trying to squelch. That smoke is a beacon for anyone who sees it, as dangerous as the fire itself.

Dalton is giving orders to wet more blankets and put them over smoldering wood.

“Save what we can,” he says. “The shed’s fine, but that’s a shitload of wood at risk.”

I look around for Anders. He’s treating a burn. I walk up as he’s saying it’s not serious, just keep it dry.

“Will?”

He sees me. “Good. I was about to go look for you. Eric asked me to send someone ten minutes ago, and I kinda ignored him. We needed all hands. But I was getting worried.”

“I’m fine. Just had to take care of something.” I motion for him to follow me and walk out of earshot. “I need you to keep an eye on Kenny.”

He starts to turn, but I say, “Don’t look. He’s supervising people carrying out wood. I need you to watch him while I talk to Eric. Do not let him out of your sight. If he even needs to go to the bathroom, make some excuse why he can’t. I need about fifteen minutes.”

“He isn’t the one who poisoned Brady, is he?”

I pause. “I’ll explain when I can. Just watch him, please.”

“I will.”

Dalton has spotted me, and he heads over with a quiet “Everything okay?” and a look that says he knows it’s not.

“If you’re done here, Storm’s acting a bit off. I don’t think she’d go into Brady’s food, but I’m worried. Just come, and tell me I’m being paranoid.”

* * *

Storm is in the station. We left her there what seemed like a lifetime ago. She whines as soon as she catches our footsteps.

We go inside, and I drop to a crouch to pet her and reassure her.

“She’s fine, isn’t she?” Dalton says.

I nod. Then I straighten. “The fire was a diversion.”

“What?” He winces before the word is even out. “Someone tried to kill Brady. Shit. Tell me he’s okay.”

“It wasn’t that kind of a diversion. I thought so, too—that’s why I went to check—”

“No.” He spins to the door. “Fuck, no. Do not tell me—”

I grab his arm. “Yes, I’m telling you he’s gone, and that there’s a reason why I didn’t come running to get a search party. Just listen. Please.”

He nods, and I explain.