Storm barks, and I tense. It's just a quick bark, though, with a response from Dalton. I can see them through the trees around the next curve, and while I can't make out what Dalton's saying, there's no alarm in his voice.
Wallace has gone quiet, and I think he's waiting for me to respond. This is, as he said, a confession. A safe one, too--it's not as if I can tell the newspapers what he's said.
If he wants absolution, he has to look elsewhere. I do, however, credit him for the confession, which is why I just stay quiet.
"I wanted to be clear that I understand my position here," Wallace continues. "I am the interloper who brought this on your town. I realize now what I've done, and I'm sorry it took five deaths for me to understand that." Another few steps in silence. "I really did believe this solution was a valid one. But the hard truth is that anyone who comes into contact with Oliver is at risk. The only truly viable solution is one that doesn't put him into contact with anyone. Ever."
Execution. That's what he means, and I stiffen, fearing he's hinting that we should resolve this with lethal action. But his gaze is straight ahead, distant.
Jail is no longer an option. We both know that. It ceased to be an option as soon as Brady came here. Put him into custody, and he'll cut a deal any way he can, including talking about Rockton.
I don't know where to go with this, what to say, so after I glance back for Phil, I change the subject with, "You say it'd be a blow to your personal finances, but Oliver claims your family money comes from his father--from a business he started."
Wallace nods. "Yes, that's his version of history, and it's our fault. His mother's and mine. We wanted to keep his father alive for him. Honor him with a legacy of success."
"And the truth?"
"I worked for Oliver's father. At one time, we were partners, but when we formed the business, the money came from his family, so his name went on it. That seemed fair. The problem was that while David was an incredible inventor, he didn't have a lick of business sense. I lacked the clout to overrule him, and at the time of his death, the company was floundering."
"You brought it back."
A sharp laugh. "There was no place to bring it back from. We had investors--David's ideas were incredible--but we'd been scrambling to stay afloat from the start."
"With Oliver's father gone, though, you turned it around."
"Oliver's mother and I did. Together. Yet David's name remains on the company, and we have allowed Oliver the fiction of his brilliant inventor father who launched a billion-dollar corporation. Which led, unfortunately, to Oliver beginning to demand more than a trust fund. When his mother had enough, she showed him the financial records from the year of his father's death. He accused us of forging them. By that point . . ."
He shrugs. "By that point, I knew there was no arguing with him. He was never happy, never satisfied. Everyone was conspiring to keep him from his due."
I check for Phil again and--
The path behind us is empty. Then I spot him, stopped off the path with his back to us. It's obvious from his stance what he's doing.
I turn to give him privacy and call, "Eric? Hold up." I have to shout--he's too far ahead to see on the winding path. Then I say, "Phil, please let us know if you are stopping. The absolute last thing we need--"
At a rustle behind me, I turn. But it's not Phil. It's a man holding an old rifle, trained on me. Two men armed with knives step out in front of Wallace. Behind them, Phil stands frozen, staring at the men. Their backs are to him, and I tear my gaze away before they spot him.
One glance tells me these men are settlers, not hostiles, and I relax at that. I'm cautious, though, gauging the distance to my gun, ready to pull it if that rifle barrel swings out of my way.
I open my mouth to speak. Then I hear:
"Let them go."
As I turn, Dalton appears at knifepoint, his hands on the back of his head. Two men and a woman follow at his rear. The woman holds Storm's lead. My gaze drops to the dog.
"Take Storm and our friend there back to Rockton, Casey," Dalton says. "I've got this under control."
If my heart wasn't thudding so hard, I'd laugh. He said the same thing when Jacob had a knife on him. His brother was drugged
and ranting and threatening . . . and Dalton's biggest concern was reassuring me that he could handle it. They'd talk it out. Yeah, just talk it out. No big deal.
"We are not letting your girl go," one of the men says.
"She's my wife," Dalton says, "and if Edwin has one drop of respect for me, he will let her walk away with our guest and the dog, and I will come willingly and answer any questions you have."
Edwin. Questions.
The First Settlement. The massacre.