Murder at Haven's Rock by Kelley Armstrong

Author:Kelley Armstrong
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dalton pulls on a light jacket to hide his gun while keeping it within reach. I adjust my own jacket. Then we step into the clearing. Dalton nods for me to take the lead. Even at its gruffest, my voice sparks fear in no one.

“Hello?” I say. “My name is Casey Butler. You brought an injured colleague of ours home. I wanted to thank you for that and ask a few questions about his accident.”

Silence.

Dalton whispers something in my ear, and I nod.

“I apologize for coming on you like this,” I say. “I know it’s not what you wanted, but we weren’t sure how else to reach out. We’ll leave as soon as we’ve thanked you.”

More silence. All the windows stay shut, no movement to suggest someone has cracked one open to peer out.

Dalton taps my arm and nods. We circle the house and find the “front door” around the back, up so tight against two trees that it would be impossible to completely open it.

“Nicely done,” I murmur. “For the record, I’d like a hidden door, too, so no one can come banging on it when we’re trying to take a few minutes to ourselves.”

“Nah, I’m going to put a note on ours asking people not to knock unless it’s an emergency. People are understanding about things like that.”

I snort a laugh. I have seen Dalton’s Do Not Disturb signs. They don’t “ask” anything. They inform you—with all possible profanity—that if you bother him for a non-emergency, you will pay the price. He never specifies the price. No one tries to find out.

I knock on the door. Then we wait. And wait.

“Shit,” Dalton mutters.

I glance over at him.

“No wolf,” he says.

I frown. Then I wince as I realize what he means. “Duh, right. If anyone was here, the wolf would be here, and the wolf isn’t going to let us get this close without making some kind of noise.”

I glance at the door.

Dalton touches my elbow. “I’d rather not.”

I turn my gaze on him.

He looks uncomfortable as he shrugs. “If we have to go inside, okay, but we brought stuff to leave a note, and I’d rather do that. Yeah, we went into the miner’s tent. This is different.”

That was a workplace. This is a home. More than that, anyone who lives out here does so with an expectation of privacy they don’t get down south, and their neighbors should respect that.

Dalton himself had grown up like this. His parents had met in Rockton and fled into the forest rather than be sent home. They’d had two sons out there, and this is where Dalton lived until he was nine. He understands what kind of people live out here. Some of them have mental issues. Others—like his parents—are modern-day pioneers, only seeking a different way of life. No matter what their reason, though, one thing is guaranteed—if they’re living in a hidden cabin, they do not want visitors.

As Dalton says, we brought paper and a pen for a message.

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