Living with the Dead

ROBYN

Robyn watched Detective Findlay walk along the gravel shoulder behind the compound where Hope, Karl and Rhys had gone. He was returning to the car after talking to the rest of the team. He had his gaze down, watching the ground intently, as if it teemed with scorpions, but when a can lay in his path, he stepped on it, giving a start when it crunched underfoot.

Frown lines creased his broad face. When the wind ruffled his hair, he shoved the strands back from his face, frown deepening, gaze returning to its intent study of his path.

Preoccupied, but not with ghosts. Robyn had already learned to recognize that look, that dreaminess, so jarring on his craggy face, like a cowboy wistfully gazing at the mountains, dreaming of a ranch of his own.

This current preoccupation seemed equally out of place, too intense, too angry. Deep in thought, and whatever those thoughts were, he didn't like them.

He climbed into the driver's seat and stared at a dead bug on the windshield, as if trying to commune with its spirit. She didn't expect him to speak. The tension between them had been stretching ever tighter since the medical offices.

She couldn't regret her reaction, nor shake the feeling that it had, under the circumstances, been the right one.

For Detective Findlay, though, this was a job, and she didn't expect him to put himself on the line for Hope and Karl, no more than she expected him to let her – his suspect – do the same. An irreconcilable clash of priorities that had settled into an irreconcilable war of intractability.

Even when Detective Findlay had finally managed to call for backup, it had only seemed to blacken his mood more. Apparently, he was stuck with a team from the sheriff's department, men he didn't know. He'd tried getting hold of a detective named Madoz, wanting him to be in on the takedown, and had been told he was on the way, but there was no sign of him yet.

She cleared her throat. "Detective Findlay – "

"You don't need to call me that."

"What's your name?"

He blinked, apparently having forgotten that somewhere between the gun showdown and the car chase, they'd failed to perform proper introductions.

"John," he said. "But everyone calls me Finn."

"Which do you prefer?"

He paused, as if it had been so long since anyone asked, he wasn't sure. "Finn's fine."

"Okay, so is the team ready to – "

A rap at the window. Finn lowered it. A beefy man leaned in too far, the invasion of space making the detective's shoulders square.

"Alvarez," the man said. "Just got here. My boys tell me you don't like my plan, Detective."

"I don't see any reason to put Ms. Peltier in further – "

"No danger, Detective. My boys are the best. I need her on-site to ID her friends, make sure we get them out."

"Out of what?"

"We don't know what we're facing in there. Our records show it's a multifamily residence. Some kind of commune, we think. We have to be prepared for the worst."

"Which is why Ms. Peltier shouldn't go in. I can ID her friends."

"We'd prefer her, for absolute confirmation."

"I want to speak to – "

"It's okay," Robyn said. "I'll go."

Finn didn't like that, lips tightening. Alvarez thumped the window sill and backed out. "All set then?"

He walked away without waiting for a response.

As they took up position in the woods surrounding the property, Finn only got moodier, snapping at the officers in a way that suggested he never snapped at anyone and didn't like hearing himself do it. But that didn't stop him either.

He seemed to be in communication with his spirit guide, but Robyn got the impression that at the moment, the ghost wasn't doing much guiding.

"I need you two over there." Alvarez pointed into the patch of woods bordering the property, then smacked binoculars into the detective's hand. "That's a safe distance. Have her pinpoint her friends and radio me with a full description of their location and apparel. Solheim here will go with you."

Alvarez marched off with his men, leaving an officer about Finn's age with a heavy brow and a heavier frown. He waved them into the forest and followed at their heels, rifle in hand. Every few seconds, Finn would glance back, as if being marched to a firing squad.

Robyn picked her way through the bush. When her feet got tangled, the detective pulled her up short and yanked wild grapevines from her ankles.

"Is this really necessary?" Finn said. "We can barely walk here."

"Cover," was all Solheim said.

When they were finally in deep enough, Solheim grunted for them to stop. Robyn could make out houses in the distance, and what looked like people moving between them, but it was so far away she doubted she would recognize Hope and Karl even with binoculars.

She glanced at Finn, who was squinting through them. She expected him to echo her thoughts, but instead he said, "How do you adjust these?"

Solheim grunted again, a sigh whispering through it this time. He set his rifle down and took the binoculars. Finn stepped back, behind Solheim, giving him a better vantage point. Robyn squinted, straining to see Hope's denim jacket.

"See this dial?" Solheim lifted the binoculars to his eyes. "You need to – "

A crack. Robyn spun to see Solheim falling, Finn behind him, gun raised.

As she stared in shock, Finn knelt beside the officer's body. "Out cold. Good. Now help me pull him – "

"You – you just knocked out a cop."

"He's not a cop, Robyn. None of them are."

"What?"

The detective rose, pushing his gun back into his holster. "I have no idea what's going on here, but I don't know any of these men – "

"Because they're from the sheriff's office!"

"Who we've been working with on this case, and I don't recognize a single name. Madoz is a no-show. I can't get through to my station. My cell phone is blocked. And look around. What are we doing out here?"

"You wanted me to be safe. This is – "

"They're sidelining us. Getting me out of the way. You gave them full descriptions of Adams and Marsten, down to what they're wearing. Why do you need to do that again?"

"You called for backup. On your police radio. I saw you. You can't tell me – "

"Something happened."

She took a slow step back. "Oh, I know what happened. You called for backup, expecting to get men you know, men you could control. Hope was right. You do work for that company."

"What? No. I – "

Robyn turned and ran. She felt his fingers brush her back, then an "oomph" as he stumbled in the undergrowth.

"Robyn!"

She reached into her jacket pocket for the gun, but it snagged and refused to come out.

"Robyn, just stop and listen – "

She ran faster, ducking to avoid a low branch, then, at the last second, grabbing it, pulling it as she ran, letting go, hearing it whip back, Detective Findlay cursing as he tripped again, trying to avoid it.

"Rob – Bobby!"

Grapevines seemed to snake from the ground, wrapping around her feet and she stumbled, twisting, hands flying up to ward him off.

"What did you say?" Her jaw wouldn't unhinge enough to let the words out properly, her fury so hot she could feel it, see it, white sparks exploding before her eyes.

"Bobby," he said. "Damon called you – calls you – "

"Don't you dare!"

He reached for her elbow, then drew back, glancing to the left with a gruff, "I know. I'm sorry," before turning back to Robyn. His lips twisted in what she supposed was a wry smile, but it looked like a grimace, and seeing it, she knew what he was going to say, what he was going to tell her, the lowest, cheapest ploy he could think of.

"Don't you dare."

"Rob – "

"If you tell me that Damon's here, helping you, I will – I will – "She could think of no threat great enough.

Detective Findlay stepped back, voice softening. "He says he calls you Bobby because he misread the place setting tags at Ava's wedding. It was a fancy script and he thought it said Bobby, and even after he knew your name was Robyn, he figured everyone must call you Bobby, so he kept using it, and it was months before anyone straightened him out."

The rage reignited, tears evaporating. "Everyone knows that story. They told it at our wedding, for God's sake. You and your people dug up everything they could, getting this lie ready to spring – "

"Fair," he said quickly, desperation flashing in his eyes. "He – Damon – said you like fairs. Yesterday when we went there, he was telling me how much you liked…" He trailed off, glancing to the side as if listening, then nodding emphatically. "Okay, okay. He says you two went to the fair last year with a couple of his college buddies. Damon threw up on the Tilt-a-Whirl and promised to do the housework for a month if you said you were the one who got sick."

The ground tilted as if, for a moment, she was back on that ride. They'd never told anyone that story, which was the point of course, saving Damon from endless razzing by his friends, who'd been on the other side of the ride and missed seeing which one of them threw up. Robyn teased him about it mercilessly, trying to blackmail extra chores for months.

If she'd never told anyone, and she knew Damon would never have told anyone…

Her gaze lifted to the spot beside Detective Finn's shoulder.

"Damon?" Again, that slow tilt of the world shifting, and it was like when she was eighteen, getting her wisdom teeth out, the anesthetic taking hold, a languorous wave of delicious warmth washing over her, her whole body relaxing and surrendering to it. She felt that again, swaying, muscles letting go as if she'd been holding them tight for six months and all she could do was stare at that spot, that empty spot, and say again, "Damon."

She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut, praying that when she opened them, she'd see him, see some part of him, if only a shimmer of light, something she could reach for.

She opened her eyes to dark forest. "What's he saying? Can he hear me?"

"He can, and he's saying that while he'd love to chat, you've got a psycho SWAT team on your tail, and you need to move your, uh, rear."

She hiccuped a laugh, hands flying up to stifle it. "Damon."

"You're going to talk to him, Robyn. I promise." Finn stepped toward her, taking her by the elbows. "When this is over, I'll tell you everything he wants you to hear. But right now…"

"I need to move my ass."

He smiled, a genuine smile, the first she'd seen from him, his eyes crinkling. "Exactly. Now, if we go this way – "

He wheeled, head jerking up as if hearing something. Then he spun back, big hand slamming her between the shoulder blades, and hissing,"Down!" She hit the ground, her sore shoulder knocking against a tree trunk. She swallowed a gasp of pain as he dropped beside her.

"Isn't this where they're supposed to be?" a voice asked.

Another answered, more distant, muffled. Robyn tried to listen, but all she could think about was Damon, here, right here with her, watching her, and everything she wanted to say, and how much she'd give to hear his voice, just hear him. She squeezed her eyes shut. How greedy was that? Only hours ago she'd have given anything for this much – the chance to know he was truly and beyond doubt someplace, that he was okay, that they would get the chance they'd been denied that night on the highway, those last moments to say everything that hadn't been said, that it always seemed there'd be time – days, months, years – to say.

"Shit! It's Solheim. He's been knocked out."

That snapped Robyn back to the present. She tried to creep forward for a better look, but Finn laid his arm over her back, holding her down.

"Solheim, come on, wake up."

A groggy "Wha -?"

"Goddamn it, you were supposed to take care of them. You fucked up, didn't you? They saw you pull your sidearm."

"Wha -? No, I never – It's right here. I – I was looking through the binoculars, then…"

Robyn didn't catch the rest, her mind looping back to the first bit. Take care of them? Pull his sidearm? She remembered trudging through the forest, Finn glancing back at Solheim, her thinking he looked like a prisoner being led to a firing squad.

Because he was.

No, that was crazy. Why would -?

Why not? Finn was right. These men weren't police officers.

Running footsteps crashed through the forest. "Solheim, Barrett, Mac! Alvarez needs you up front. Something's going down." The footfalls stopped. "You took care of them, right?"

"They got away. We were just – "

"Shit! No. We need all hands up front. Their car is disabled, right? You managed that, I hope."

A chilly, "Yes, sir."

"Then, Solheim, scout the perimeter. Don't let them escape. Barrett, Mac, follow me."

When they were gone, Finn helped Robyn to her feet.

"We need to warn Hope and Karl," she said.

"I know. You still have the gun?"

She reached into her jacket. It slid out easily now. All in the angle, she supposed.

"Any idea how to use it?" he asked.

"I'll figure it out."