He gives me a one-armed hug, and I say thanks. Then I toss my toiletries in the bag and he carries it downstairs. I need to grab my jacket from the backroom, and when I come back, he's got Mick's folder. I'd left it on the front table when I went to pack, planning to take it for some in-flight reading. He's staring at the first page--the list of names. When I walk in, he slaps it shut.
"Sorry," he says. "I'm snooping."
"You're a cop. You're supposed to snoop."
He smiles, but it looks strained. He's had to pick up the slack while I recuperate and Dalton plays nurse. I catch a glimpse of the toll it's taking as he hands me the folder.
"You okay?" I ask.
He jumps, as if startled by the question. "Sure. Why?"
"You look seriously overworked."
"Always." He points at the folder. "Since I'm professionally allowed to be nosy, I'm guessing that's a list of real names?"
"Hmm?"
"Real names of locals."
"Something like that. Just a lead I'm chasing." I stuff the folder into my duffle, which he takes and waves me to the door without another word.
SIXTY-ONE
We're heading through town when Dalton joins us.
"All done with the council?" I ask.
He makes a noise under his breath, one I interpret to mean he's annoyed at the interruption to his day but yeah, it's done.
"Meant to run the pre-flight check earlier," he says. "You okay with hanging out? Or do you want to rest at the station?"
"I'd like to see how you do it. Not that I'm going to be a pilot anytime soon, but I'm interested."
That pleases him, and he nods. He talks to Anders for a moment, before the deputy takes off to run an errand. He'll bring Diana after that, something I'm in no rush for.
We're on the edge of town when we spot four of the militia, armed and on horseback, heading for the woods.
"Hey, boss," Kenny calls with a wave.
Dalton eyes them and veers in that direction. "What's this? Don't need four guys for patrol."
"Hunting mission," Kenny says.
"Nothing on the schedule."
Kenny grins. "This is a different kind of hunt. We know you're busy, so we're going to find the bastard who cut up Casey."
Dalton tenses so fast I swear I hear vertebrae snapping.
"Whoa, no," I say. "We are nowhere near that point, guys. I haven't even been able to provide Eric with a description, it all happened so fast. I appreciate that you want to keep the town safe, but for now, we can best do that by staying out of the woods and posting a couple of extra guys on border patrol."
"It's not about safety, Casey," Kenny says. "You got cut up by some psycho out there. We're going to make him pay."
The other three nod. While it's sweet that they want to go after the guy who hurt me, I feel a bit like the wide-eyed maiden in a spaghetti western, the local gunslingers mounting up to go hunt down the villain who sullied my honour.
I look at Dalton, waiting for him to jump in with a loud and profane diatribe about exactly why this is a bad idea. But he's frozen in panic, and I know all he's thinking is that four armed men are hell-bent on riding into the woods and shooting his brother.
"No," I say, as firmly as I can. "I appreciate the gesture, guys. I really do. But what we have out there isn't a killer who'll descend on us in our sleep. It's a guy with a problem, hopefully temporary, and--"