She gives me a hard look. “A therapist isn’t supposed to offer interpretations.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m a detective, where it’s my job to interpret.”
Isabel takes two bottles from the shelf and disappears into the back. I don’t take offense at her sudden departure. Where I would simply go quiet, she signals that she doesn’t want to discuss it by removing herself from the conversation.
Bottles click and shuffle in the back. I’m halfway done with my drink before she returns.
“Do you consider me a soft touch, Casey?” she says.
I choke on my lemonade. She picks up her cloth to wipe away the spatter.
“Perhaps I worded that wrong,” she says.
“Unless that was extreme sarcasm, yes, you did. No one would ever mistake you for a soft touch, Iz.”
“I do have my vulnerabilities, though. After Mick…” She keeps cleaning, although my mess is long gone. “He was the pursuer.”
“He told me that. He chased, and you resisted.”
“Not just at the beginning, either. I always resisted. He let me know exactly how he felt, and I … did not reciprocate. I hope he knew—” She clears her throat. “I trust he knew. Some women might see dating a significantly younger man as a point of pride. Smug self-satisfaction. To me, it was like revealing a weakness. Uncovering a place where others could poke me. I fought back by acting as if Mick was just a plaything. Not in private but…”
Another throat-clearing. “I was less respectful than I ought to have been, and I regret that. When Mick was gone, I realized just how much I’d cared for him. It’s one thing for a successful man to have a hot young thing to show off. It’s quite another if he’s fool enough to fall for her. I worry that Phil…” She downs a gulp of her drink. “I worry he saw my weakness, and he’s taking advantage.”
“Of you?”
“Of my position here. My power in the community. I worry that he sees me as an easy mark. Get me in bed, and I’m just an older woman making a fool of herself.”
“I don’t see that at all, Isabel. If Phil was using you, he’d be flaunting the relationship, which he is not.”
“Because he’s embarrassed.”
“Uh, no. Jen accused him of that yesterday. He said he’s being circumspect because of your mutual positions in town. Also…” I run my finger down my glass. “I get the impression he’s being quiet about the relationship because you are. You might not be the only one who’s worrying about where you stand, Iz.”
She takes another sip and says, “I don’t want it happening again.”
I pause, processing her meaning. Then I nod. “You think he’ll betray us, like his predecessor. That he’s insinuating himself with you in hopes of winning you to the council’s side. Or, at the very least, stripping you of your power as an ally to Eric.”
She doesn’t answer, which tells me I’m right.
“Have you seen any sign of that?” I ask.
“No, which means I’m being a fool. Coming up with excuses for keeping yet another man at arm’s length.”
“So this is serious, then.”
She dries her hands on her apron, gaze down. “God knows, it wasn’t supposed to be. Phil was my horse. I’d fallen off, and I was getting back on again.”
“Taking him for a ride,” I say with a smile.
“A much-needed ride. As many rides as I could get. A fling with a man I would never fall for. Too young. Too pretty. Wound too tight. I wanted a shot at unwinding him.”
I grin. “Which you did.”
“I certainly did, and that man is…” She exhales. “There’s a brain behind that pretty face. A fascinating brain, along with the kind of ambition I don’t see anyplace but in the mirror.”
“It’s easier to think he’ll betray you than to admit you’ve fallen for him.”
“Much easier. I also don’t want to be played for a fool, Casey. I worry about that.”
I lean on the bar. “If you’re truly worried, then test him. See if he bites. If not…” I shrug. “Then you’re going to need to figure out where you stand, and whether he’s standing in the same spot.”
“You know, that James seems like a lovely fellow. Quite handsome.”
“Jay is indeed handsome, and completely not your type. He hasn’t been coming on strong, has he?”
“No. He flirted. I flirted back and then wised up and sent him on his way. I don’t think I was ever in danger of inviting him home. I realized I wouldn’t do that to Phil.” She finishes her drink. “I need to test him.”
“Or you could just trust—”
The bar door creaks open, Anders peeking in.
“Eric said you were in here,” he says. “We found something you need to see, Casey.”
THIRTEEN
Anders and I are halfway to the clinic when Jay jogs up to us, and I tense, thinking of Isabel. She’d said he had readily taken no for an answer, but earlier today, I’d been reflecting on the trouble Owen caused in Rockton. The woman he’d stalked had been Isabel. She attracts admirers. Some are nice guys like Mick, who pursue ardently but respectfully. Others are like Owen, assholes who hear “no” as a challenge. I have to wonder what would have happened if Cherise hadn’t said yes. Or what will happen if she stops saying it.
As for Jay, though, Isabel said it was fine. I’m just being overprotective.
Jay falls in step with us because he’s heading in the same direction … apparently with the same destination.
“I heard Sophie’s stirring,” he says as we walk. “I was going to try talking to her again.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry I haven’t been around.”
“You went looking for her friends,” he says. “Someone said they thought they saw bodies being brought in the back way. I’m guessing you found them?”
Anders cuts in. “Jay has been stopping by the clinic every time Sophie wakes. She hasn’t said much, but he’s been taking notes.”
Jay nods. “It really isn’t much. I wrote it all down, though.” He holds out a notebook. “She seems to be more lucid today. Is there anything you want me to ask her?”
“There is. We found two campsites about a kilometer apart. It looked as if the group split up. Can you ask about that?”
“Sure.”
We reach the clinic, and Diana’s waiting on the front porch. She takes Jay into the storage closet. That’s where we’ve put Sophie. It’s big enough for a bed, though I always feel guilty when someone needs to sleep in it. The clinic doesn’t have a room for overnight stays, and right now, there are three corpses in the main examination area.
I head into the exam room, where April is jotting notes. There’s a body on the table. The other two are stacked, still in their rudimentary shrouds. Yes, they’re on a tarp, but it still feels a whole lot like stacking bodies in the corner.
“Ever get the feeling Rockton needs a proper morgue?” I say to Anders as I enter.
“Only since you got here.”
April doesn’t look up from her note-taking. “If you are suggesting there are more murders since Casey arrived in Rockton, that is logistically impossible. She would need to be creating them herself, and I doubt she is.”
“‘Doubt,’” I murmur. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, sis.”
She looks up then, frowning. “Since I am not a mind reader, I cannot exonerate you completely. However, I do not believe you murdered these people. Isn’t that proper sisterly support?”
I shake my head and walk to the exam table. The body on it belongs to the son. The boy, his beard patchy with youth.
A beard that will never get the chance to grow in properly.
I hesitate. Anders reaches to pull up the sheet, but I wave him off as April says, “Casey does not require that. She is simply pausing in reflection. You knew this young man?”
I shake my head. “I know the girl he was seeing. That just makes it … more real.”
“Shit,” Anders murmurs. “Felicity?”
“No, one of Cherise’s sisters.” I cover the last step to the table. “So what do we have?”
He walks to the counter and lifts a small jar. When he shakes it, a bullet clinks against the glass.
“Hunting accident?” I say. “A bullet from an old wound?”
“It was lodged in his aorta.”
“Aorta? You mean…” I turn toward the body. “He was killed by a bullet?”
A crash sounds from the next room. Everyone turns, and April starts toward it, saying, “If they have knocked over the IV, we do not have a backup—”
Diana screams, and I charge into the room. She’s alone with Jay and an unconscious woman, leaving no doubt as to which one is making her scream.
I throw open the door and—
The bed is empty. That’s the first thing I see. An empty bed with the restraint straps dangling. Diana stands at the foot of the bed, hands to her mouth. There’s no one else in the room.
How the hell can there be no one else—?
I follow her wide eyes. She’s looking down at the other side of the bed. There’s a strangled cry, and I race around to see Jay and Sophie on the floor.
Sometimes, the brain jumps ahead of the eyes and fills in a false picture. It’s a phenomenon I know well from witness interviews. They see what they expect, and that image can leave an impression even when the truth contradicts it.
I heard a crash. I see Diana frozen in horror. I spot Sophie and Jay on the floor, and I think that Jay has …
Well, I have no idea what he’s done, but clearly he’s the aggressor here when the other person involved is the semi-sedated victim of a murder attempt.
Yet that is not what I’m seeing. Jay is facedown on the floor, and Sophie is on top of him with her hands wrapped in his hair, her face twisted in rage.
She jerks his head back as if she’s going to slam it into the floor, I shout at her to stop, and she has the mental awareness to look up and see the gun pointed at her.
She snarls something in Danish, and I know, beyond doubt, that she wasn’t fighting off Jay. She’s tried to attack us before. She’s not in her right mind. Yet I somehow still imagined Jay instigated the attack, because that’s the usual narrative.
Jay’s face is pure terror, his eyes rolling, blood streaming from his nose. More blood on the floor, where she’s already bashed his face.
His mouth works, but nothing comes out.
“She—she just went nuts,” Diana whispers. “She was talking to him, and he undid her restraints, and I said not to, but he did, and then she just … sprang.”
“Sophie,” I say. “Can you understand me?”
“She’s still not speaking English,” Diana says.
“April? I need a sedative.”
“She’s already getting it,” Anders murmurs beside me. He has his gun out, too, aimed over the bed.
Sophie barks something in a voice that makes me jump. It’s a definite bark. A command.
“Sophie,” I say. “I need you to—”
“Back,” she says in English. “Back.” She jerks her chin down at Jay. “Kill.”
Get back or I kill him.
Seems she knows a little English after all.
“Jay?” I say. “I know you’re scared right now, but I really need you to translate. Is there any chance you can do that?”
He makes a gurgling noise. It comes out on a gasp. He’s too frightened to help. Shit.
“Back!” Sophie says. “Back!”
I assess the situation. She’s got him facedown on the floor, as she kneels on him. Her hands rest at the base of his neck. She’s pinned him so he can’t lift his arms.
How serious is her threat to kill him? She could bash his face against the floor, but I’m right here, with a gun trained on her. I can shoot her before she can do that.
Still, is there any reason not to do as she asks? If I can defuse the situation, I will, even if that means surrendering ground.
I glance at Anders. He nods, telling me to go ahead and ease back. April appears in the doorway, syringe in hand, and I motion for her to lay it on the bed. She does, so carefully that Sophie doesn’t see it.
Something’s wrong here.
Uh, yes, your survivor freaked out and attacked her translator.
No, something …
Jay’s eyes bug, and he gets a hand free. Even as it shoots to his neck, the answer flashes. The way his eyes bulge. The way he gasps and can’t speak despite having his face off the floor. The way Sophie’s hand rests oddly at the back of his neck.
That’s why he can’t talk.
She has something around his throat.
She’s choking him.
I back up fast, my hands rising, gun pointing toward the ceiling. Anders shifts, and his gaze shunts my way, but then he sees the problem and his lips part in a curse. He lifts his gun and steps back.
“Sophie?” I say. “Let him go. We can’t speak to you without his help.”
I pantomime my words. She only snorts, her nostrils flaring. I can’t see what she has around his throat. It’s thin, whatever it is.
“Diana?” I say. “What does she have?”
“W-what?”
“What’s she choking him with?”
“Ch-choking?”
“Sophie?” I say, louder now, firmer. “Let him go.”
Sophie looks straight at me. She holds my gaze as Jay gasps, and a chill slithers down my spine.
“Let him go!” I point the gun at her again. “You want me to back off? I’m not going to do it while you’re killing him.”
She continues holding my gaze.
“You know what I’m saying,” I hiss. “You know enough English to understand.”
Jay gasps, and his head falls forward as he draws in rapid breaths. I see then what she’s using. It’s her IV tube, wrapped around his neck, just slack enough now to let him breathe.
“Dead,” she says. “Malthe and Liva. Dead. Saw killed.”
“You saw your friends Malthe and Liva die. I’m sorry. That wasn’t us, though. I can explain—”
“Victor,” she says. “Want Victor.”
“Victor?” I repeat it. “Is that your partner? Your lover? Your husband?” I rattle off synonyms, waiting for the recognition in her eyes. There is none, though. Her hooded eyes give nothing away.
“April,” I say. “Get the hiking boot.”
She withdraws, her shoes tapping across the wooden floor. When she returns, I glance up just in time to see her holding the boot … with the severed foot still inside.
I open my mouth, but Anders beats me to it, waving wildly at the boot and shaking his head. It takes a split second before his meaning penetrates. April disappears.
“Victor!” Sophie snaps again. She didn’t see the foot, thankfully—she’s too low behind the bed. She tightens the tubing again, and Jay’s eyes bulge.
“Stop that!” I snap. “If you want to talk to us, you need him.”
She looks me in the eye. “Liar.”
I blink. Did she just call me a liar? Or is that a Danish word? “I am not lying to you. He’s the only one who can speak Danish, so unless your English vocabulary suddenly improves—”
Anders catches my eye. I understand the message.
Take it down a notch. Remember she’s not herself. She’s woken in a strange place with strange people. She’s not thinking straight and not fully understanding the language.
“I need you to let him go,” I say, motioning with my hand. “Please. We can talk about Victor. Just let him go.”
“Liar.”
I struggle against my frustration. Pretend she’s high on drugs. Don’t expect logic. Just talk her down.
April returns with the boot, sans foot. I grab it in my free hand and hold it up.
“Vic—?” I begin.
She sees the boot, screams and yanks on the tubing, and Jay thrashes in fresh panic.
“Sophie!” I shout. “Sophie!”
She’s not liste
ning. I holster my gun and dive for the needle on the bed. Snatch it, drop onto her just as she grabs Jay’s hair and smashes his face into the floor. I jab the needle in, but she bucks before I can depress the syringe. Then she’s on me. Before I can blink, I’m flat on my back, sprawled half across Jay, with Sophie on top of me.
Diana screams. Anders shouts at Sophie. I feign contorting my face in panic, and that relaxes her just enough that she doesn’t notice when I go for my gun. In another blink, it’s pointing at her as she lays one hand over my throat.
“Let her go,” Anders says as he comes around the bed. “Or she will pull that trigger.”
“She will,” Diana says quickly behind him. With shaking hands, she pantomimes shooting a gun.
“Shoot her.”
At the last voice, I give a start. It’s eerily calm, and it comes from over my head. Out of the corner of my eye, April appears. Her expression …
I have never seen this look on her face. Her words are cold and calm and clear, but her face is taut with fear, eyes showing whites all around the blue irises.
When she speaks again, there’s a tremor under that calm. “Shoot her, Casey. Please, just shoot her.” April swallows, the sound as loud as a gunshot. “She has her thumb on your Adam’s apple, and I need you to shoot her now.”
It is indeed on my Adam’s apple. Yes, an open-handed strike at that spot is famous as a killing blow, but Sophie’s thumb just happens to rest there as she presses her hand into my throat.
I lift the gun to Sophie’s face. Then, beside me, Jay gurgles.
“Casey…” Anders says, and I follow his gaze to Sophie’s other hand, wrapped in the tubing again. I glance at Jay. The tubing digs into his throat, blood tricking down.
“Syringe,” I whisper.
Anders shakes his head. “The needle’s snapped. April, can you please draw up—”
“Shoot her, Will, for God’s sake,” April hisses. “She’s going to kill Casey.”
“For once, I’m with April,” Diana says, voice shaky. “Will? Casey’s not going to do this. Can you please—?”
Sophie’s thumb digs in. Then she yanks on the tubing, so hard her face twists with effort, and she smiles. Dear God, she smiles down at me as she yanks and—
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