"How about Roger?" Dalton asks.
Brent goes quiet.
"Brent...," Dalton prods.
"I like Roger."
"Yeah, I figured that. I know Jacob does, too. But Ty told me he was going around recently asking about Rockton. Did he come to you?"
"Roger isn't your man, Eric."
Dalton's jaw sets. He waits. Then he gets to his feet. "Fine. Casey, come on. Brent's right. This Roger is a nice guy. Nice guys don't do shit like this. And you know, if he sets me on this guy, I'll chase him down and string him up, and to hell with due process. Fuck, I'm not even sure I'd bother asking his story."
"Yes," Brent says. "He came by two days ago asking about Rockton."
"What exactly?"
Brent's on his feet, shifting his weight. "Law enforcement. What kind you had in there. How many people, how well trained, and whether..." He inhales. "Whether I thought you guys were capable."
"Capable of what?"
"Catching someone you needed to catch."
FORTY
Brent hadn't even admitted to Roger that he knew Rockton existed. Like Jacob, "I don't know nothing about that," was all he ever gave. Brent had asked where the question was coming from. Roger just said he'd heard things, about the people who lived in there, who used to, and it got him worrying about what if one of them escaped. Should people out here need to worry?
Typical paranoia from a population that leaned in that direction anyway. Or so Brent figured.
The problem will be finding Roger. Brent offers his bounty-hunting skills. While he's still not convinced Roger is responsible, he doesn't particularly want Cypher to be the one bringing him in.
*
We're tromping back to town, the light already fading, when Dalton says, "What Ty said, how I was when I came to Rockton, it wasn't like that."
"I know. I've met Jacob, remember? And even if it was like that, do you honestly think I'd care?"
He doesn't answer, just walks, gaze fixed ahead.
"Eric?"
"It matters," he says. "I know it does. I didn't grow up like everyone else, and it's all about experiences, right? That's what we are. The sum of our experiences. And mine are so..." He trails off and rubs his mouth with his free
hand. "Fuck. I don't know what I'm saying."
"Everyone's experiences are different. My upbringing was nothing like yours or Will's or Petra's. But yes, yours was more different. I'm not sure where you're going with that, though, so you need to give me a hint. Are you worried I see you differently, knowing your past? You do remember that you told me it before we got together, right?"
"Yeah. I just..." He shakes his head. "I don't know where I'm going with it either. I'm just..." His fingers tighten around mine. "Stuff. You know?"
"About the case?"
He walks in silence for a few steps, and then says, "You're okay, right? With moving in?"
That throws me. I haven't even thought about it--we've been too busy with the case, and it has felt no different from before, moving from house to house. Maybe it's different for him, not just having a guest but sharing his home.
I say, carefully, "You weren't counting on cohabitation when you got Storm. If it's not what you want--"
"No, I'm fine with it."