When we arrive, Anders is conscious and struggling to get free from an old hemp rope tying him to a tree. His wrists are bloodied, and as much as I want to carefully tend to his injuries and Diana’s, Kenny’s situation is a much graver concern.

Our path takes us past Wallace. Diana offers to stay with him. I don’t actually give a damn if anyone stays—he’s not escaping those ties and if the cougar finds him and thinks he’s a fine dinner, I’m okay with that. But I leave Diana behind, armed with a knife and a whistle.

When we set out again, Anders says, “Rough day?”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. I think I do a little of both, and he puts his arm around my shoulders as we walk.

“Kenny was alive and stable when you left him,” he says after I explain. “I’m not going to lie and say he’ll be fine, but he was alive and he was stable. Also . . .” He glances over. “What happened to him wasn’t your fault.”

“He only came out here to clear his name.”

“No, he comes out here all the time as a member of the militia. Odds are just as good that he could have been shot by this psycho sniper while just doing his job. You don’t really feel guilty about him being out here. You feel guilty for thinking he was Brady’s accomplice.”

I nod.

“Lesson one in Rockton?” he says. “Trust no one. Except Eric. Well, trust him to not be a killer or a killer’s accomplice. I know he has secrets, but I’m sure you already know those.”

I glance over.

He shrugs. “I can tell. And I’m never going to push. That’s his business. But I know his secret isn’t our secret—that we’ve killed people. If you and I have that in our background, though, anyone could. Even Kenny. He was the most likely suspect for Brady’s accomplice. So stop beating yourself up. I’ll do whatever I can for him. Hopefully he’ll be fine.”

We walk a few more steps, and then he says, “There’s more, isn’t there? Something else happened out there.”

“The sniper shot someone Eric knew, a hostile we . . .” I swallow. “A hostile we might have helped. It was a misunderstanding. She ran into the forest. And there were others. Hostiles. Eric had to shoot them, and he tried to just wound them and . . . things got worse.”

“Shit.” He looks over. “And you?”

I shrug.

“Casey . . .”

“I shot one. Had to. Me or him. You know how—” I stop myself. There’s a lightness in my voice. Forced casual, sardonic. You know how it is. You were a soldier. Which is not anything he needs to be reminded of.

“I do know,” he says, brushing his shoulder against mine.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He cuts me off with a quick embrace as we walk. “I do know. And it sucks every last goddamn time.”

“I’m worried about Eric.”

“I know you are.”

“I’m also worried I may have . . .” I inhale. “He may have seen a side of me I’d rather he didn’t.”

“You mean the side that just told Wallace he’s a piece of shit who deserves to be carved up and fed to the ravens?”

“Uh . . . possibly.”

Anders laughs. “If you think Eric would be the least bit surprised by that, you are underestimating the man. You might try to hide that part, but you do a lousy job of it. Sorry. Wallace is alive, and you’re doing everything you can to keep him that way until he can face his crimes. That’s enough.”

I look at him. “Is it too much? If only I’d killed Brady back in Rockton—”

“Yeah, don’t even go there. You aren’t that person. If we’d killed him then, yes, people would still be alive, but we had no way of knowing that, and we were right to suspect the council’s story, considering Brady turned out to be innocent.”

“Did he?”

Anders frowns at me. “You still have questions?”

Yes. Yes, I do.

* * *

We’re halfway to the spot where I left Kenny with Dalton and Jacob when we hear the pound of feet on a nearby path.

“Brady,” I say. “That’s . . .”

When I trail off, Anders reaches into his pack and hands me his whistle. “Go on.”

“No, I should—”

“You’ve done what you can for Kenny. I’m reasonably sure even I can’t do any more until we get him back to Rockton. That’s my real role here—the muscle to help make that happen. If I need a nurse, Eric does a fine job. You go get Brady.”

“It might not be him.”

“It is. Go.”

I take off. As I jog along the path, I think.

So many questions.

And maybe, just maybe, an answer.

But for now, I will only say that I have questions. It seemed logical that the sniper works for Wallace. It might also seem logical that the sniper would stop shooting when Brady—his target—fled.

But that does not explain the fact that the first bullet was aimed at Wallace. That Wallace instinctively grabbed for a human shield. Would you do that if you’d hired the man firing the gun? Of course not.

And if you did hire that man, and he saw you being taken captive, would he not turn his rifle on those attacking you? You can’t collect payment if your client is dead.

When Diana and I went to free Anders, we left Wallace bound and gagged. And the sniper never returned to check on him, never returned to free him.

The sniper is not Wallace’s man.

Yet Wallace is guilty.

I saw that mask slide from Gregory Wallace’s face. I could say it was just the mask of civility falling away, like the hostiles in this forest, stripped of what passes for humanity when they are forced to fight for their lives.

That is bullshit.

Strip away my mask of civility, and you get someone who would shoot a man who left her to be beaten to death . . . and then blamed her for it. Someone who would have shot Wallace or Brady—not caring which was innocent—if it saved a friend.

What I saw in Wallace was more than my brand of darkness. It was evil.

When faced with danger, he pulled an innocent bystander into the path of the bullet.

Does that mean Wallace has done what Brady claims?

He could have. For now, I’ll only say that. He is entirely capable of it.

As for Brady . . .

A theory. That’s what I have. Now I need the man himself.