"I'm taking the prisoner, Sheriff," he calls when he sees us.
"The hell you are," Dalton says.
"Actually, yes, I am, and while I know you need to bluster in front of Will and Casey, let's skip that part. Your protest is duly noted. But it doesn't change the fact that you are not in charge here. I can assure you, Mr. Wallace will be properly dealt with."
"We have a patient in urgent need--" I begin.
"And you have Dr. Atelier. Plus the sheriff's plane, should the council decide to extract
Kenny."
"I want to talk to Wallace," I say. "I have questions that require answers."
"No, Casey, you have questions you would like answered, and you wish to stall me while you figure out how to stop me."
"I want to figure out how you can take him safely," I say. "He's a dangerous psychopath--"
"Yes, yes, I know," Phil says, as if I'm telling him Wallace might prove an annoying seatmate.
Dalton's gaze swings toward the hangar. Then he starts to run.
Phil holds his ground, saying, "If you physically try to stop me, Eric--"
Dalton swerves around the hangar instead, heading for the rear door. I follow, and Phil calls, "Whatever you two have in mind, it is a waste of time. If you attempt to stop me, there will be consequences. I would suggest, Casey, that you . . ."
I don't catch the rest, drowned out by the sound of the plane.
The back door to the hangar stands open.
Dalton circles into the trees to sneak up on the other side. Anders has joined us, and he gets into the trees, angled where he can cover me.
I swing through the doorway. There's a figure at the open passenger side. A small one wearing a hooded jacket. When I see her, there's a moment of confusion as complete as when I first spotted Val. Then it's like dominoes falling, connections made in an instant.
"Harper," I say. "Step away from the plane."
She turns and sees the gun. Hers starts to rise, but Anders barrels through, saying, "Drop the weapon!"
She looks toward the open main doors. Dalton appears there with his gun trained on her.
"Weapon down!" Anders barks. "Now!"
"Do as he says, hon." Wallace's muffled voice emerges from inside the plane. "They will shoot you."
She lowers her gun to the ground.
"Shit, it's just a kid," Anders says, as he gets his first good look at her.
"A kid who murdered three of her fellow settlers. Including her own grandmother."
Harper just levels her gaze on me, and I've seen that look before, in teens I've arrested. Some cry. Some rage. Some just give me this look, a cold So what?
It's chilling enough when it's a kid I've arrested for breaking into a house. For this? "Chilling" does not begin to describe it.
I want to ask, "Why?" But I know better. I'll just see another look like I did when I arrested those kids, when I felt compelled to ask why, and they rolled their eyes like I was just another stupid grown-up, asking stupid questions.
The "why?" isn't about motive. It's more of a "how?" How could you do such a thing? That is a question Harper cannot answer. No one can.
"You said Albie wanted to go back and steal the horses," I say. "But your grandmother and the other man stopped him. You still wanted to do it, though. You told Albie that, after the others went to sleep, didn't you?"