Sean didn’t meet her eyes. “How much did he tell you about the night we came here?”

“Um, that you killed your leader, Emmet. That he was a psychopath,” she said. “Nick wanted him dead too.”

Sean snorted. “Did he? Guess we’ll never really know, will we?”

“Nick is not a bad person.”

“He’s not a good person either.”

They passed through what a street sign designated Main Street. Crops grew where asphalt would once have been. Big, graceful jacaranda trees stood along the median strip running down the middle of the road. Shop windows were covered in curtains, now homes for people to live in. But a huge hardware store stood open, packed to the rafters with various goods. The place looked to be a veritable Aladdin’s Cave of survival treasures.

“You’re wrong,” she said.

Across the road a group of people stood gathered deep in conversation. Sean gave them a long, wary look. A sturdy, muscular young man turned and scowled at Roslyn and Sean. At Ros in particular. His face tensed and he looked at her like she’d personally massacred millions. Inspiring such hatred in someone she didn’t even know felt bloody unnerving. Being in Blackstone seemed like a truly bad idea all of a sudden. This place didn’t feel safe, no matter the wall keeping the infected out.

“What the hell is going on here?” she hissed.

“Quite a few people died that night. One of them was a man named Sam Cotter. He’d been holding the place together, but he got bit,” said Sean. “There’s been a lot of internal fighting since then. Seems like he was the only person that could get everyone to agree. Since then, the welcome mat hasn’t exactly been laid out to new comers.”

At the end of Main Street they turned left. The police station was surrounded by flowering bushes. A man with a sawn-off shotgun stood outside the front door on guard duty. Not so normal or pretty.

“Why do they need a guard?” she asked.

Sean shot her a look she couldn’t read. The guard nodded to Sean and held the door open. Inside it looked like a typical country police station. A counter and some chairs, and beyond was an office area. Lots of white walls and filing cabinets, a collection of old wanted signs. Off to the side, she could just make out the bars of a cell. Sean carried her straight through. Behind a desk a handsome blond young man sat cleaning a gun. But more importantly, where was Nick?

“Put me down, please,” she asked.

“Hey, Finn.” Carefully Sean set her down on her feet, holding her elbow steady while she found her feet. Sean was nice. “She wants to see him.”

“Why?” asked the cute, albeit serious, blond. His face was curious but not unfriendly. How refreshing.

Knees wobbling, she circumnavigated the Viking. Nick sat on the wide cot pushed up against one wall, his chin braced on his hands, staring off at nothing. Giddy delight filled her at seeing him.

“Nick?”

He blinked and turned his head. He didn’t smile back at her. “Roslyn. What are you doing here?”

A new big black bruise took up half his temple, sitting out in a swollen lump. He made no move to come to her, just sat on the stupid mattress giving her closed looks.

Like she couldn’t read him by now.

“What the hell happened to your face?” she yelled.

Nick sighed. He rose and strolled toward her, bracing a hand on the bars. “Calm down. It’s not like you haven’t done worse.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Don’t pout.” His fingers stroked over hers, wrapped around a length of cold metal. This was ridiculous. Unacceptable. “How are you feeling?”

“Why are you in here?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“I wasn’t supposed to come back,” he said. “But, you know, this cell is better than being shot on sight. What are you doing out of bed, hmm? You still look really pale.”

“I’m fine.”

He frowned at her. Why not? People had been frowning at her all day. She’d started to get used to it. Hell, she frowned right back at him. “They threatened to shoot you on sight and you willingly chose to come here?”

He just looked at her.

“Ms Stewart.” The pretty blond man who’d been cleaning the gun stood close by, his mouth a set in an unhappy line. “Nick informed us he kidnapped you and held you against your will.”

“Nick!” She turned back to the idiot in the cell, moving too fast. Her head felt topsy-turvy. “That was personal. How could you tell them that?”

“It’s the truth,” he said calmly, like he was resigned to his dire circumstances. People heading to the chopping block probably had a similar joie de vivre. “What I did was wrong.”

“What you did is between us. I can’t believe you.”

The pretty blond cleared his throat. “Ah, Ms Stewart—”

And honestly, she’d had enough of this shit. More than enough of it. “Open the door. Let him out. He didn’t hurt me. Though I may hurt him.”

“But, by his own admission, he did hurt you. He held you against your will, at the very least.”

She growled. Men! They were all such fools. “Do not try to tell me you are punishing him for things he supposedly did to me. I decide how that works, not you. You are not involved in this. None of you.”

The pretty blond just blinked.

“And I’m not pressing charges, so don’t try to tell me it’s about the law either. Let him out.”