“Do you want me to get Eric?” he says.

“No,” I say, perhaps a bit too vehemently, and his brows shoot up, and I hurry on with, “It’s fine. He needs a break.”

“Sure as hell didn’t want it, though. The only reason he left was to tell the council they can go fuck themselves.”

My brows lift.

Anders moves to sit on the bed. “They want him to take Diana tomorrow.”

“I heard him arguing with someone downstairs. Was that the same thing?”

“Nah, that was Beth. She can …” He made a face. “You know what she’s like with Eric. Trying to take care of him, mothering or whatever. She’d been pestering him to leave you alone and go rest, and he was already cranky about that. Then she tried telling him he shouldn’t fight the council. That set him off. I feel a little sorry for her, but …” He shrugs. “She means well, but he really doesn’t like her hovering and fretting over him, and she never takes the hint.”

“Hmm.” I shift in the bed, and I must wince, because Anders reaches for a bottle at my bedside.

“If that’s morphine, the answer is no,” I say. “I have work to do.”

“Which you can’t do if you’re sweating with pain.”

I wipe my forehead. It is indeed beaded with perspiration.

“Take a half dose,” he says. “Then water and food.”

“Speaking of hovering …”

“No, I’m advising. If you tell me to go to hell, I’ll shut up.”

“Okay, give me a half dose. What time is it?”

“Seven.”

I look at the window and see twilight, which doesn’t help. Before I can ask, Anders says, “It’s morning.”

“I’ll take the drugs and any food you can scrounge up. Then I’ve got a list of people I want to interview.”

“Um, you’re not going to be leaving that bed for a few days, Casey.”

“You can bring them to me.”

He smiles, says, “Yes, ma’am,” and pours my medicine.

I conduct two interviews before Dalton finds out. I hear his footsteps on the stairs, and I tense, waiting for the What the hell are you doing? Then he walks in, and I can tell by his expression the lecture is not forthcoming, and I almost wish it was. He has that kicked-dog look from after Jacob’s attack, when he’d been stumbling over himself to apologize.

He slips into the room and looks around, making sure we’re alone before saying, “I, uh, hear you’re conducting interviews from bed. Which is fine if you’re up to it, but before your next one, we should talk.”

“I’m busy, Eric, and I’d like you to go.”

He rubs his chin. “That’s a fuck off, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s a please go away because I don’t really want you here.”

“Okay.” He sits down.

“That’s not—” I begin.

“You’re angry, and you have every right to be. I will leave. Right after I tell you how sorry I am for what happened.”

“You already did. Many times.”

“I don’t mean the stabbing. Of course, I’m sorry about that. I couldn’t be more sorry. I mean what happened before that, which I didn’t apologize for yesterday, because after Jacob, all I could think about was what he did. But what I did was inexcusable.”

He waits a moment and then looks up at me.

“If you’re expecting an argument, you’re not going to get it,” I say.

Dalton nods. “Yeah, okay. Understood. I just want to say that’s not me, that I hope you know I’m not like that, and I don’t know what the hell came over me.”

“Yes, I know it wasn’t how you normally behave, but you still did it. You said to hell with what’s right, to hell with me, and did whatever you pleased.”

His gaze is on the bedspread now as he shakes his head. “Yeah, no excuse. So …” He lifts his head and runs a hand through his hair. “How do we get past this, Casey? Maybe that’s a stupid question. Maybe I should know the answer and not be asking you, but I don’t, so I am, because all I can think to say is that I’m so fucking sorry, and if I could undo it, I would. It will never happen again.”

“You’re right it won’t happen again. Because I’m never going in the forest alone with you ever again. Not after that.”

He nods, gaze lowered. “I know. But it won’t happen here, either. I won’t …” He clears his throat. “Whatever’s going on with us … I mean, for me … It just … won’t happen again. I promise.”

Silence, as I try to make sense of that.

“You are apologizing for taking off on me in the forest, right?” I say.

His head shoots up. “What?”

“For stomping off in a huff and leaving me alone out there.”

His eyes widen. “Hell, no. I didn’t—I walked away, sure, but not far. I figured you could still see me. I was just … I was getting some distance. Cooling off. Not because I was angry. Just … cooling down. When I turned around, you were gone, and I didn’t blame you, considering what I did.”

“What did you do?”

He looks at me, part confusion and part wariness, as if I’m asking such a silly question that it must be a trick. Then he shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable, and says, “Forcing myself … you know. The kiss and … pushing. I didn’t mean to, and I thought you were reciprocating, but clearly I misinterpreted, and when you told me to stop, I didn’t.”