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"Why?" I wave over the side of the balcony. "Do we have flying monkeys in the forest, too?"
"Keep your gun at your bedside. Always. That's an order, detective."
I shake my head. "I'm not being difficult, sheriff. Therapists call it a hypersensitive survival instinct. If I have a gun and I see a threat, I could use it to defend myself before I fully process the extent of that threat."
He snorts.
"And no, that's not my excuse for what I did down south. But if I did have my gun out here, there's a good chance I would have shot you."
He shakes his head and walks back inside, saying, "Get dressed. Come down. Hastings is missing. Someone saw him heading into the woods two hours ago. We need to find him before he gets himself killed."
We step outside, and Dalton hands me a lantern. A blast of bitter wind hits me, and I pull my jacket tighter.
"You want to grab something warmer?" Dalton asks.
"I'm fine."
"Let me rephrase that: Get the hell back inside and put on something warmer, Butler."
I obey. I'm grabbing a sweater when I remember seeing a bag of what had looked like outerwear with my supply boxes. I dump it and find gloves, a hat, and boots, all much thicker than the outerwear I brought. I scoop up the hat and gloves and hurry outside.
Anders has joined Dalton on my front porch. My first thought is, I have a front porch? Followed by, My front porch has a chair--I could haul that up to the balcony. I shake off the whim and yank on my gloves as I greet Anders. Dalton is already on the move, disappearing into the dark.
"Rule number one for working with Eric: keep up," Anders whispers as we jog after the sheriff. "Two years later, I'm still trying."
Dalton has headed around the rear of my house. He's moving fast along that strip of yard, as if this is his secret road past the traffic-jammed streets of Rockton.
When we reach him, I say, "Can I make an observation?"
He snorts. "Well, that's a fucking stupid question. I hired a detective, not a mime."
"It's an observation that might question what we're about to do."
"Still a fucking stupid question. If I wanted someone to blindly obey everything I say, I'd have hired another army boy."
"Thank you, Eric," Anders says.
"Though, on second thought, Will, blind obedience might be a step up, considering you never read those files."
"Not going to drop that, are you?" Anders said.
"Nope. Butler? Talk. And if you ever have an idea about an investigation and you don't tell me about it..."
When he doesn't finish, I say, "Trying to figure out how you could enforce that without mind-reading skills?"
Anders chuckles. Dalton looks over, sees my smile, and nods.
"Yeah, it's unenforceable," he says. "So I won't threaten. But you get the point. I hired a detective because I expect ideas. I'm tired of doing all the thinking in this department."
"Ouch," Anders says.
"That's not an insult." A few more steps. "Not really. I could use more thinking from you, Will. You're smart enough, so there's no excuse other than that you're accustomed to following a commanding officer. You're a good soldier. I need that. I also need more."
"You know what neither of us really needs at two a.m., Eric? Brutal honesty."
Dalton stops short. I think he's going to comment on that, but he's scanning the darkness.
"You got the militia up and out?" he asks Anders.
