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The emotion in his voice, particularly when he said that last bit, had tears prickling my eyes. It was the truth -
the honest truth - in a sea of lies.
I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Okay, I'll take the tablets. Where are they?"
"In the bathroom." He leaned back. "I think I'll go to the pub for a meal. You interested?"
I snorted softly. "Like this? Thanks, but no. I think I'll stay here and have a bath."
"Cool." He glanced at his watch. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."
I shrugged. "Don't hurry on my account. Enjoy yourself."
"Like that's - " He caught the words, and shrugged. "I'll bring back some beer, if you like."
I nodded, wondering what the hell he'd been about to say, and why he'd checked it. I finished my coffee as he disappeared into the darkness, then I stood and made my way into the bathroom.
There was a pill bottle sitting on the ledge underneath the mirror. I picked it up and read the label - these were definitely my tablets, and they were dated several weeks ago. I frowned and tipped one out into my hand. They were large and brown - more like something you'd feed a horse. I contemplated the tablet in my hand for several seconds, then clenched my fingers around it.
I couldn't take it. I just couldn't.
I dropped it into the shower and crushed it underneath my heel, then turned on the taps, stripping off the shirt before stepping inside.
I kept the water cool because of my sunburned skin, but it still felt like bliss. For several minutes I did nothing more than stand there, letting the water sluice off me, washing away the worst of the blood and dirt even as the chill began to seep into my body and ease the fires burning there.
After I'd washed hair and skin, I turned off the taps, grabbed a towel, and stepped out to dry myself. Then I swung around and headed for my bedroom. There was a suitcase at the foot of the bed. The clothes in it were a mix of old and new - some of them smelled of me, but most didn't.
I grabbed a pair of faded denims and a low-cut T-shirt but didn't worry about a bra - the strap would have rubbed the half-healed wound.
Once dressed, I glanced at the time. Evin had been gone for twenty minutes. That left me an hour and forty minutes to do my investigations.
I grabbed my wallet and the apartment keys then headed out. The night was still crisp and a little on the cool side. The sigh of the waves washing up the shore mingled with the distant sound of laughter and music. All the nearby villas were silent - maybe everyone had gone into town. From the little I'd seen of this place earlier, there probably wasn't much else to do.
Once clear of both the villa area and the nearby caravan park, I broke into a run, cupping my breasts with my hands to compensate for my lack of a bra. The rubber soles of my shoes made little sound on the dusty road, but the little puffs of dirt that rose with each step meant I'd be noticed if there was actually anyone about to notice. But even though there were one or two houses that had their lights and TVs on, no one seemed to be paying any attention to what was going on in the street.
Interestingly, the air closer to town was thick with the musk of wolf. There were a lot of us here, and it made me wonder if Dunedan was a werewolf community. It was certainly remote enough - although it was unusual for such a community to also be a tourist destination.
I swung into a street just before the police station and headed for the paddock from the other side. There were fewer houses here, meaning less chance of being seen.
I slowed once I hit the grass. The thick scent of blood had faded - not surprising, given twenty-four hours had passed.
Yellow-and-black police tape fluttered in the slight breeze and I wondered if the body would be transferred elsewhere for the postmortem. If Dunedan was so small that the local doctor acted as coroner in an emergency, then I doubted they'd have a proper morgue. In fact, even the cops might have to call in specialists. They surely wouldn't have had to cope with many murder investigations in a community this size.
I ducked under the tape and stopped just inside the trees. I didn't want to disturb the murder scene any more than necessary and, besides, I really didn't need to go close to where the victim had died to feel his soul.
I could feel it from here.
I couldn't actually see him, but that really didn't matter. He was here. The thick chill said as much, as did the energy flowing from me, building in the air, giving him strength and sapping mine.
I had no idea of his name, so I simply said, "Why do you linger?"
Why was I murdered? I came here to start a new life, not have it ended.
His words were angry and his fury filled me, roaring through my body like a wave. But his statement sent a sliver of alarm through me. I'd heard a similar complaint once before ...
But where?
"What is your name?"
