Cypher’s eyes narrow. “You calling me stupid, boy?”
“No, but given that you’d get a bigger reward for bringing him in, I’d have expected you to try.”
“Maybe because you knew a younger man, one a helluva lot more willing to wager good money on a shitty bet. I want my fucking coffee. I’m not going to risk that. I want supplies, too. We’ve got a bad winter coming. You spend time out in those woods, you learn that big gambles are the sure way to guarantee you won’t spend much more time in those woods. That’s something I’d expect you to know all about.”
I make a noise in my throat, but Cypher doesn’t push the jab further, just refills his mug and adds enough creamer to make my teeth ache.
“If you don’t want Roger, that’s fine,” Cypher says. “But you still owe me for scouting him.”
“You know I’ll come with you. I’m just letting you know that I don’t trust you, and I’ll be bringing Will and Casey.”
“You sure you don’t want the full fucking militia? An honor guard to keep you safe?”
“An honor guard is ceremonial. The term you want is ‘security detail.’ I don’t need either. I want backup, and if you think mockery will make me say ‘fuck that,’ and come alone, you’ve got the wrong sheriff. Now pour that coffee in a thermos, and let’s move while we still have daylight.”
* * *
We’ve been hiking for maybe ten minutes when Cypher says, “Seems tense back in Rockton. Everyone running around with guns, jumpy as hell. A bit of professional advice. You’re obviously thinking Roger is coming back for the girl. I’d say the chances of that are slim to none.”
I think he’s making a really bad joke, but when I look over, he’s perfectly serious. He doesn’t realize Nicole is gone. Those who escorted him in wouldn’t have mentioned it, and we’d been too focused on Roger.
“It already happened,” I say.
“What?”
“He came and took her two nights back.”
“Came into Rockton?”
I nod.
Dalton says, “And before you ask, yes, she was under guard. A caretaker inside. A guard outside. Double night patrols.”
“So he’s a smart fucker. Not a hostile, then.”
“On the surface, it seems like their sort of crime,” I say. “But his captive says he was frighteningly normal, and the fact he took her again, from Rockton, suggests we aren’t dealing with a madman. He even attacked another former victim to distract us.”
Cypher looks over, brows rising.
I continue. “My guess is that he got Nicole into the forest but didn’t dare take her far with the added security. He hid her and then went back to strangle the guy who escaped him. In the resulting confusion, he spirited Nicole off.”
“He could have just been silencing a witness,” Cypher says. “But yeah, the fact he failed to kill the guy—and that he must have grabbed the girl first—means it was likely a distraction. Smart. Not one of those freaks, then. Hostiles aren’t big on planning. And they wouldn’t think they could slip into Rockton unnoticed. The smell alone would give them away.”
We walk a little more, and then I say, “Honestly asking your professional opinion, what else could we have done to make sure this didn’t happen?”
“Stick that gal’s ass on the plane and get her out of Rockton.”
“Which would seem like the first thing she’d want. It wasn’t. To her, Rockton was safety. We still tried to talk her out of staying, but she…”
“Threatened suicide,” Dalton says. “Even if we’d managed to force her out, she could have retaliated. The council agreed she should stay.”
I expect Cypher to say it didn’t matter what Nicole wanted—get her on that plane and let the council deal with the rest.
Instead he says, “Hell, yeah. If the council thinks she’s a threat, nail her ass to Rockton.”
“I’m not sure she would have actually—” I began.
“Doesn’t matter what she’d do. What matters is what the council thinks she might. In those circumstances, if you put her on a plane, you sign her death warrant.”
I look over sharply. “Have they done that?”
“Fuck if I know. But given what I did for a living, no one knows the low value of a human life better. Except maybe soldiers.”
When Anders tenses, Cypher glances at him and says, “The army doesn’t give a shit how many grunts die. Only person who cares is the guy standing beside you. To them, you’re a person. To some government pencil pusher? You’re a tool. An expendable one. That’s what we are to the council. Only even less useful than tools. You ever hear those stories about rich people who leave all their money to their dogs or cats? Their heirs need to pamper the fucking animals, or they lose their inheritance. That’s what we are. Those dogs and cats. If we’re rich ourselves, then the council doesn’t get the final payout until we make it home alive. If we’re one of the charity cases, the real power behind the council—those folks who pay to keep Rockton running—don’t like seeing their precious pets mistreated.”
As he’s talking, I’m thinking of Beth, and when he finishes, I can barely bring myself to ask. But I have to.
“What about those who get kicked out? For crimes?”
“They’re threats, aren’t they?”