He stops short of saying anything that could sound like an accusation.
“She was taken from her bedroom,” I say.
“And, yeah,” Dalton says. “She had a nurse, a guard, heightened patrols—”
“I’m not saying—” Jacob begins.
“We are,” I say with a weak smile. “Trust me, we’re saying it.”
“This guy came right into Rockton, though? That’s…”
“Ballsy,” I say. “We know. Then the storm hit, and we lost their trail. We were wondering if you could help.”
“Of course. Just tell me what to do.”
Dalton gives him a region he’s familiar with, and Jacob nods, and then says, “We’ll find her. It might seem like this forest goes on forever, but someone’s going to see something. This guy won’t kill her. If he wanted to do that, he’d have done it in town, right?”
When I nod, Jacob seems relieved, as if he hadn’t been stating a fact as much as posing a question.
“She’s tough,” he says. “She knows we’re looking for her, and she’ll stay alive. That’s how she’ll beat him. She’ll stay alive until we find her.”
I hope so. I really hope so.
On the way back for lunch, we meet up with Anders. We’re walking and talking, heading toward the station.
“I’ll round up a hot lunch,” Dalton says. “You two…” He trails off as he sees Jen parked on the station front steps. “Fuck.”
“Why don’t I go get lunch?” Anders says.
“No, I—”
“I insist.”
“I’ll go with—” I begin, but Dalton’s hand lands on my shoulder.
I sigh, and we walk over to Jen.
“This isn’t a public rest stop,” Dalton says. “It’s also not the way to get yourself hired.”
“Huh,” she says. “You sure? I kinda thought that making myself useful and helping your halfwit detective might be the way to prove myself.”
Dalton says nothing, just stands there, looking at her. Finally she rises and says, “What?”
“I’m waiting for you to rephrase that without an insult attached. Though I suspect that might be physically impossible.”
“I was just—”
“Reflexively insulting Casey. The way you do to everyone. Because everyone needs to be knocked down a few pegs, and that’s your job. Which means you aren’t ever getting a job here, Jen. As militia, you’d need to show both of us basic respect. That’s how policing works, just like in the army.”
She crosses her arms. “Do you want my tip or not?”
“Come on inside,” I say. “And if you really feel the need to insult me, at least do better than ‘halfwit.’”
Dalton stays outside. Because at ten below freezing, it’s really just too warm to be indoors. Jen plunks into the chair behind the only desk in the station. My seating options then are to kick her out of it or take another chair, as if I’m the witness and she’s the cop. I stay standing.
“What’s the tip?” I say.
“I’d like a coffee. Black. Cookies, too. I know lover boy smuggles in chocolate chips for you.”
“Leave.”
“That wasn’t an insult.”
“It actually was. Nicole has been kidnapped—by the psycho who kept her in a cave for a year, after he murdered two other women. Making me take time to fix you coffee insults everyone in this town who actually gives a damn.”
Her lips tighten. “I’ve been out there, pulling double shifts on the search parties—”
“Because we’re paying you.”
“For one shift. The second is volunteer. But I want a hundred credits for my tip.”
“We don’t pay for tips.”
“Time to start.”
“No, it’s not, because that would set a precedent. The payoff is that I use your tip to catch a killer, which helps everyone. It’s a community effort.”
“Fuck community. I want credits.”
“And you honestly expect to be hired as militia with that attitude?”
“My attitude is adjustable. You know what adjusts it? Money. You don’t want to ‘start a precedent’ by paying me for this tip? Hire me now. Then I’m on the payroll, and I’ll do my damn community service.”
My palms thump onto the desk, cutting her short. “You are wasting my time, Jen, and I’m starting to think that’s your end goal. Stall my investigation so you can tell everyone what a shitty job I’m doing.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” she says, her voice tight as she straightens. “I have a valid tip. I’m just not sure you’re competent enough to use it.”
“Oh, for god’s sake.” I stride to the door and grasp the knob. “Get out.”
“You don’t want my tip?”
“Yes, I do, but it’s obvious I’m not going to get it. I can’t pay you. I can’t hire you. I can’t even convince you I’m competent—apparently solving a quintuple homicide wasn’t enough.”
“If you’d solved it faster, Mick would still be alive.”
I go still. Completely still. Then I say, as quietly as I can, “Get out.”
She rises. “You couldn’t save him. Just like you couldn’t protect Nicki. You—”
“Get out!” I roar, and she stumbles back.