"It can wait," Dalton says.
"Hell, no," I say. "I could very much use the distraction. Give me the thing. Now."
Anders snickers.
"Get your mind out of the gutter," I say. "If I was being dirty, I wouldn't use a grade-school euphemism."
"Hey, your mind went the same place."
"Only when you snickered like a schoolboy." I look at Dalton. "I want the thing. Whatever it is."
"You'll get it. Later. You need to rest and--"
"I need the thing."
"You heard her, boss. She needs the thing. Yeah, it's bad timing, but you have to give it to her sooner or later. You've offered it, and she's not going to rest until she gets it." He pauses. "This conversation isn't sounding any less dirty, is it?"
"It's just you," I say. "Go work. I get the feeling Eric will be a lot more comfortable giving me the thing without you around."
Anders laughs, shakes his head, and jogs off.
I look at Dalton. "In all seriousness. I'm fine with waiting."
"No, it's not something that should wait. It's just..." He rakes his hair back and sighs. "Fucking lousy timing. Shoulda waited until spring, but I got ahead of myself, and fuck, I probably shouldn't have gotten it at all without telling you."
"Eric? Babble never helps. Even profanity-laden babble. What you're saying is that you've bought me a gift and you're not sure it's appropriate."
"Yeah."
"Then give it to me now, or just tell me I'll get it later."
He resumes walking but changes direction, and soon we
're at Petra's place. He raps on the door, and when she answers, he says, "I'm here to pick up that ... thing."
She grins. "Ah, right. The thing." She leans against the doorpost, blocking our view inside. "Sorry, Sheriff. I've misplaced the thing. You'll have to come by another time. Maybe next week? I'll have found it by then."
He shakes his head.
"Fine." She looks at me. "I'm keeping your thing, Casey. You wouldn't want it, so I'm doing you a favor."
There's a noise from in her apartment. It sounds like ...
"Is ... that a whine?" I say.
"Wine? Not here. Try the Red Lion."
She starts to close the door. Dalton catches it and ushers me through.
"Private property, Sheriff," Petra says.
"It's Rockton," I say. "There is no private property." I try to brush past her, following the faint sound of whining, but Dalton catches my arm and says, "Remember you said we should consider getting animals again? Working animals."
My smile grows to a grin.
"A working animal," he says. "Not a pet. We can't have pets here. But she needs a master, someone to train her and live with her so--"
I'm already past him and down the hall. The whining comes from Petra's bedroom. When I throw open the door, a blur of black fur zooms over and stops short when it realizes I'm a stranger.