to you. Damned drugs."
I'm not sure she buys the excuse, but she gives an awkward smile and says, "You're due for more Tylenols soon."
"Has it been that long?"
"It's technically morning." She waves at the darkened window. "As you can tell."
I groan and slowly pull myself up to a sitting position. It hurts, but it's manageable. My actual gunshot wound isn't that bad.
"Is anyone back?" I ask.
"No."
When I frown, she says, "What's up?"
I shake my head.
"I know you, Case. I see you thinking at breakneck speed."
It snowed. That's what I'm thinking. That it snowed a day ago, and that should make tracking Benjamin easy.
Still something about that niggles at my brain, the same way Jen's accusation had, the same way Isabel's story had, the same way Benjamin's "final" words had, when he'd declared his innocence.
Something about this isn't right. The snow ... the trail ...
"Tell me what you're thinking," Diana says. "Maybe I can help."
"It's nothing."
She pulls back, rejected again, and I fight the urge to give in and tell her. It's so hard breaking those habits. For years, she was the one I'd talk to. The only one I talked to. Even now it goes beyond mere habit. She's sitting here looking like a whipped puppy.
I haven't overreacted to her betrayals. I can't trust her. I don't ever want to be best friends again, and that's self-protection, not bitterness and spite. But when she gives me that look, I feel like I'm the one who's done her wrong.
I've never been able to understand why Diana stayed with Graham. As a female cop, I was often called on to speak to victims. So intellectually, I understand. Emotionally? No. Despite my confidence issues, I cannot imagine staying with a man who treated me like shit.
How many times has Diana--like a fickle lover--wandered off to greener pastures only to come crying back to me? How many times has she used me? Abused our friendship? Yet I've taken her back, and now seeing her flinch when I refuse to share my thoughts, that wounds me. Makes me feel like I'm kicking that whipped puppy.
And in that analogy, I find a distraction and pounce on it.
"You know what I really need? Some puppy therapy," I say. "Petra said Storm was downstairs. Do you mind bringing her up?"
Diana goes still. I sit up, ignoring a stab of pain.
"Is she with Petra?" I ask.
More silence. Then, "She ... It happened right after Petra left. Or maybe when Petra left. I'm not blaming her. Not blaming anyone."
I tense. "Storm's gone."
"Devon is looking for her. He came by with cookies an hour ago, and I was freaking out about the puppy, so he went after her. Mathias is looking, too--he joined after I sent Devon to the butcher for scraps to lure the puppy, and Mathias joined the hunt. We'll get her back."
I push off the covers. "I need to--"
Diana stops me. "No, you don't, Casey. People are searching. It's only been a couple of hours. She slipped out somehow, and she's having a grand old time running around out there, I'm sure, but she's a puppy." She gives me a wry smile. "She's going to want her mommy soon."
"Exactly. She doesn't know Devon or Mathias well enough to come to them. I'm not running off into the forest, Diana. I'm just going to step outside and call."
"Fine. Do it from the balcony. You aren't ready for the stairs."