If asked what I would do in this situation, I would say that I’d go after Jen. I’d be unable to help myself. But the thought does not cross my mind. Instead, I throw myself between them, stopping Jen, and then all my attention is on Storm. She’s only staggered back, with a yelp that is more confusion than pain, but I’m on my knees, cradling her.
Then I hear a snarl and a thump and a gasp, and I turn to see Jen pinned against the wall. And the person pinning her is Petra. She has Jen against the wall, shirt bunched in her fists. The look on Petra’s face is exactly the one I would have expected on my own. Blind rage.
“You do not ever touch that dog,” Petra says between clenched teeth. “You do not ever touch Casey.”
“I-It was a mistake,” Jen stammers. “I’m sorry, Casey. Is she okay? Should I get someone?”
I ignore Jen as I check Storm. She’s breathing fine. My finger prods make her flinch but not whimper. She’s rubbing against my legs, looking for comfort, and that upsets me more than the kick itself. My dog has known nothing but kindness from humans. People here fawn over her, sneak her treats, pet her, offer to take her for runs. As the only pet in town, she’s a pampered princess. Now someone has hurt her. She keeps sneaking glances at Jen.
“Just go,” I say without looking up.
“Is she—?”
“You kicked her. Whether she’s physically hurt or not, she isn’t okay.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. When I was a kid, a dog attacked . . . I’m sorry. I just reacted.”
I pat Storm and get to my feet.
“I was trying to accept your petition,” I say, my voice cold. “You brought it. I was taking it. We all know there’s a problem. We know people aren’t happy. And we’re trying like hell to figure out what to do about it.”
“I was afraid—”
“That I’d burn the petition before Eric saw it? Tell me, Jen, what have I ever done to make you think I’d do anything except present it to him.”
“I—”
“Use your goddamn brain for once. I know you have one. Fifty people can swear they signed your petition, so how the hell could I make it disappear?”
I shake my head. “Just go, okay? Take the petition or leave it. I don’t give a damn. Just—”
A crash sounds inside the station.
16
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?”