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Meaning it could have been a professional hit. Especially given they'd probably used some form of immobilizer to take him down so quickly. Things like that weren't available over the counter - though easily enough gotten on the black market.
And just how would I know something like that?
I rubbed my left temple wearily. Energy continued to flow away from me, and the pain slithering through my brain was increasing. "And what did you do, Marcus, that warranted being slaughtered in such a fashion?"
I've done my time. It doesn't matter. The words were angry, ricocheting around my head as sharp as nails.
I winced, blinking back tears. "It obviously matters to someone, Marcus, or you wouldn't have been killed in the manner you were."
He was sucking at my energy like a man possessed, and my knees were threatening to buckle under the strain. I tried locking them, but knew I'd have to end this soon, answers or not.
It shouldn't matter. Damn it, it was a long time ago!
Well, someone obviously hadn't forgotten. "Tell me what you did."
Why? What fucking good does it do now?
"I guess that depends on whether you want to stay here haunting this scrawny patch of trees, or move on."
The energy was draining at a faster rate now, and my head was beginning to ache fiercely. My knees suddenly unlocked, and I hit the dirt.
I braced myself with one hand as Marcus said, I raped several women.
"Define 'women.'" Because the brutality of his murder suggested there was more than rape involved -
especially if he'd been put away for a while. The sad fact was, courts and judges didn't treat rape as seriously as they should.
Anger swirled, thick and sharp. The stabbing pain got worse, and suddenly I was struggling to breathe.
Okay, it was girls. Sixteen-year-olds. We held them for several days and did them over proper, like.
We. The word caught in my brain, but before I could question him more, my brain overloaded and all I felt was pain. Sheer, bloody, agonizing pain. I hugged myself for several seconds, rocking back and forth, then realized he was still there, still draining me.
"Go," I whispered. "Find whatever peace you damn well can."
He went. Not happily, not easily, but he went, and the draining stopped. "Harris," I said to the man standing quietly behind me. "If you don't want the crime scene contaminated any further, you might want to help me out of here. I'm about to throw up."
Arms grabbed me, lifting me as easily as a kitten. Or a pup, as the case might be. We'd barely made it out of the trees when my gorge rose, and I struggled out of his grip and staggered away before losing the little I had in my stomach.
God, I felt awful. If I'd let Marcus drain me for much longer, it could have been fatal - though with the way my brain was feeling, it had come damn close anyway.
"Here," Harris said, handing me a half-empty water bottle. "Rinse your mouth out with this."
I accepted it gratefully, rinsing away the bitter taste then spitting it out. I repeated the action and felt a little better, though my head still ached like a bitch and my muscles were trembling.
I forced myself to stand upright and handed him back the water. He was dressed in blue sweatpants and a gray tank top that clung to his body and emphasized his lean strength, and his dark hair was damp and curling up at the ends. But his eyes were blue - a blue the color of the ocean that surrounded Dunedan - not black.
Why was I expecting black? Who did he remind me of? Suddenly that question seemed vital, and yet I just couldn't answer it.
Why, why, why?
He shoved the small water bottle back into its pocket on the side of his pants, then said, his expression grim,
"Tell me why I shouldn't arrest you for entering a restricted area?"
"Well, if you'd had a man stationed here like you were supposed to, it wouldn't have been a problem, would it?"
He didn't look amused. "People around these parts respect the law. They know - "
