I don’t know exactly what happens after that. Not because I’m caught up in the chaos, but because I’m ignoring it. I have my job, and that job is getting Jen out of the bar.

I’m strong-arming her toward the door when the pencil-necked guy with the book decides to make a break for it. He elbows past us … and catches a right hook from a shape filling the doorway. I’m about to use Jen to power past the newcomer when I see his face. It’s Dalton. He ignores me and barrels down on book-guy, who’s sprawled on the floor.

“He’s not part of it,” I shout over the chaos.

“The hell he’s not,” Dalton says, still bearing down on the poor guy.

“No, really, he—”

Someone tries to take Jen from me. I go to yank her back and then see it’s Anders.

“Ignore him,” he says, waving at Dalton. “Jen? Sheriff’s here and you know how he feels about rydex. You got five seconds to—”

Jen’s already running.

“Good choice,” Anders says. “Now, let’s clear this mess. You know how to do it?”

“Stomp the bullies first.”

He grins at me. “You got it. Let’s have ourselves some fun.”

Seven

We’re back at the station. With the pencil-necked guy. Dalton marched him, in cuffs, all the way from the Roc. Now he’s got him pinned to the cell wall, lifted clear off his feet and gasping for breath.

Some older cops bristle at the term “police brutality.” Intimidation, they call it. Or, as others would say, “speaking the only language assholes understand.” But they only mean physical dominance. Shove the guy around. Grab him by the hair. Dig your fingers into his kidneys accidentally.

That isn’t what’s happening here. I’m watching my new boss choke a guy half his size. A guy who wasn’t part of the brawl. Who hasn’t raised his voice or a finger in his own defence.

Every time I rock forward, Anders shakes his head. Telling me to keep it cool. Promising me answers. But I don’t know Anders. I don’t know either of them. All I know is that I’m witnessing something that makes me very uncomfortable.

“Butler?” Dalton says. “Empty his pockets.”

I do. There’s a wallet, keys, and the worn paperback he was reading in the bar. That’s it.

“Now take his clothes.” When I hesitate, Dalton turns that gaze on me. “Did I give you an order, detective?”

I manage to get the man’s shirt and trousers off. Dalton has me seal them in an evidence bag that Anders holds out.

“I warned you the last time, Hastings,” Dalton says. “I’m going over your clothes with a goddamn magnifying glass, and if I find even a speck of powder—”

“There’s always powder,” Hastings says. “I’m a chemist.”

“No, here you’re a lab assistant. Which means if I find powder, you’d better hope to hell the doc confirms it’s from this morning’s work.”

“I don’t wash my clothes every day, you moron. We aren’t allowed—”

“Don’t care.” Dalton hauls the smaller man up to eye level. “You’re the only fucking chemist in town, Hastings. Which means you’re the one making rydex. And as soon as I can prove it, I’m kicking your ass out.”

“You can’t. I’ve only been here a year, and I was promised a two-year—”

“When I say kick you out, I mean put your ass on the back of my ATV and dump you in the forest. You know what’s out there, Hastings?”

The man glowers at him.

“No,” Dalton says. “I don’t think you do. But it’s your lucky day, because I have visuals. We found Harry.”

“What?” Hastings takes it down a notch. “Is he okay?”

“For a smart man, you ask some dumb questions. He spent a week in the forest. From the looks of it, he didn’t last past the first nightfall. But don’t take my word for it. I’m going to escort you to the clinic, where you can see exactly what’ll happen if I find out you have anything to do with the rydex. Fair warning, though? I really hope you haven’t had lunch yet. Because you’re about to lose it.”

Dalton hauls Hastings out the front door, still dressed in his boxers. We watch them go. Then Anders turns to me. “So, speaking of lunch, are you hungry?”

I do not want lunch. What I want at this moment is to grab Diana and get the hell out of here. But I squelch that and tell Anders I want to see the victim.

“Sure, I’ll take you over,” then “And Eric’s right. Better skip lunch until afterward.”

As we walk, I resist the urge to ask Anders about the body. Better for me to see it and form my own impressions. I do ask about the drugs, though.

“Rydex,” he says. “That’s the local name for it. Opiate based. Highly addictive. And one of the most serious problems we’re dealing with right now.”

“One?”

“Yep,” he says. He doesn’t elaborate, just goes on to explain that rydex is a homegrown drug that’s been circulating for a few years, which means it predates Hastings’s arrival, but it was only after Hastings got to Rockton that it became a serious problem, meaning Dalton suspects Hastings tinkered with the formula to make it more addictive.

“Where’s he getting the ingredients from?” I ask. “Presumably, if he’s working at the clinic, he’s using prescription drugs, but it’s easy enough to monitor that. And only Dalton has access to the outside world, right?”