Moon Sworn

Chapter 8

I swung around to follow the scent and sidestepped Evin’s attempt to grab my arm. “Can’t you smell that?”

“It’s blood. So what?” He fell in beside me, his expression none to happy.

“It’s human blood,” I corrected. “Someone’s dead. Or about to be.”

“Hanna, we’re not cops. This is not our business.”

“Well, I’m making it mine.” I frowned up at him. “What if we walk away and the victim could still have been saved?”

He tried grabbing my arm again, but I slapped his hand away. He growled in frustration and said, “This is not smart—”

“Damn it, Evin, if I can save someone, I will. I’m more than a little fed up with the other option.”

Confusion flicked through his expression, which I suppose was understandable, given I wasn’t entirely sure what I was talking about, either.

I followed my nose into a side street that was little more than dust, and past several houses. Ahead lay a grassed paddock. A small dam filled with muddy-looking water dominated the middle of the paddock and, beyond it, there was a stand of scrubby-looking wattle trees and shrubs. The blood scent was coming from that direction.

Evin’s steps slowed. “Hanna, we really should get the cops.”

“Then do it.” I walked on.

He muttered something under his breath and dragged his phone out of his pocket, but continued to follow me nonetheless.

“Cathie?” he said, his voice seeming to echo across the overheated air. “It’s Evin again. Look, we’ve scented blood in the paddocks behind the station. You might want to get either Harris or Mike out here.”

I tuned him out, my gaze sweeping the ground. There wasn’t any sign of a fight that I could see, and no indication of either recent tire tracks or footprints. Of course, there was also no reason that there should be. Just because this was the most logical way for pedestrians to come if they were heading for the few houses dotted beyond this paddock didn’t mean whoever was lying either dead or near dead in those trees had actually walked this way.

I passed the dam and switched my gaze to the trees. The scent of blood was so strong my nose twitched, but I couldn’t yet see a body. But blood dribbled down the trunk of one of the nearest wattles, gleaming wetly in the moonlight.

Evin’s footsteps faltered. “Jesus, Hanna—”

I frowned and glanced around at him. His face had gone white. “What the hell is wrong with you? Anyone would think you’ve never seen a body before.”

He glanced at me sharply, “Which sounds like you have.”

“It’s an everyday part of our goddamn job.” My confusion was growing. Why was what I was saying and half remembering so at odds with how he was reacting?

Who was the disconnected one here?

“It’s not an everyday part of my fucking job.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Gold gleamed thickly amongst the red. “Look, Cathie says we should avoid disturbing the area too much. Harris is on his way.”

“I have no intention of disturbing the crime scene.” And no intention of simply standing back here waiting for the cops to arrive, either.

I kept walking. Evin sighed, and it was a sound of frustration if I’d ever heard one. Which I probably had.

The air underneath the trees was a riot of aromas. First and strongest was the metallic stench of blood, but under that ran a mix of vanilla from the yellow blossom puffs and the aromatic resinous smell of the smaller wattle shrubs scattered between the bigger trees.

And below even those, the scent so faint part of me thought I might have been imagining it, was the taste of anger. Of vengeance.

This murder had been planned, not accidental, if that scent was anything to go by.

I scanned the ground again. There were footprints here. Weird prints that resembled cloven hooves rather than anything human. Maybe our victim had been attacked by a goat.

The body lay in a small clearing in the middle of the trees. He was big-boned and rough-looking, his skin pale and flaccid, as if he neither saw much sunshine nor did much to look after himself. His head was bald, but thick black hair matted his chest, trailed down his stomach and … my gaze stalled at his groin.

His genitals were gone. Penis, balls, and all, just gone. Hacked out of his flesh, leaving only a raw, gaping wound that still oozed blood—an indication this death hadn’t happened very long ago.

“Oh, shit.” Evin’s voice was hushed, as if he feared disturbing ghosts.

“Someone really didn’t like the way this man used his tool.” I said it lightly, trying for humor but obviously not succeeding if Evin’s expression was anything to go by.

“How can you joke about something like this?” He motioned toward the body with a hand that appeared to be shaking. “Someone cut this man’s nuts off!”

“And maybe they had a damn good reason.” It was absently said. There was something here, something I couldn’t quite catch or explain …

“And there’d better be a damn good reason for you two being here.” The voice was deep and authoritative, and not one that I knew. “Especially when Cathie’s already warned you to stay away from the crime scene.”

“Tell me about it,” Evin muttered, then added, “Hanna thought we’d better check, just in case there was someone here who needed medical help.”

“Hanna?” The other man’s gaze seemed to rest on me. I could feel the weight of his annoyance. “Isn’t she the sister that went missing?”

“Yeah. We just got back. I asked Cathie to let you know.”

“Well, she didn’t.” He stepped up beside me, surrounding me with his scent—warm spices and musky wolf.

“You really need to step away.”

“And you really need to know that there’s something else here.”

“What?”

I glanced at him then. He was several inches taller than me, with dark hair and well-defined, handsome features. His shoulders were broad, his body lithe—the build of an athlete, not a bodybuilder. Something within me leapt and my gaze jerked up to his face, searching for a reason for the tug of familiarity. He was wearing dark glasses, so I couldn’t see if his eyes were as dark as his hair. But part of me wanted them to be—expected them to be.

Except that he was a werewolf.

That bit didn’t fit with what I was expecting.

I tore my gaze away from his and motioned toward the body. “There’s something else here. An odd sort of energy.”

It was thick and strong, and it felt like fingers of ice caressing my flesh, cooling the heat of sunburn, sucking at my strength.

It was also something I’d felt before, back in the times I couldn’t remember. I had no fear of it, even when the slivers of pain began to stab at my brain—a pain that was scarily similar to the pain that occurred when I’d tried to shift shape.

Something had obviously gone seriously wrong when I’d hit whatever it was I’d hit.

“I can’t feel—”

I grabbed Harris’s arm, stopping him. His muscles tensed under my fingertips, but he didn’t pull away. I pointed with my other hand. “There.”

“What?” His voice was patient, as if he were dealing with a crazy person. And who knew, maybe he was.

Except that I could see it. A faint wisp of white hovering just above the victim’s head.

“A soul.”

“A soul? Lady—”

“Damn it, it’s there. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“Yeah, right. Evin, I think you’d better—”

“Sorry, Hanna,” Evin said, and before I could react, something hit me over the head and the world went black.

I woke to darkness. I lay there for several seconds, staring upward but not really registering that there was a ceiling above me rather than sky and stars.

Then memory hit and I jerked upright. Only to wince in pain as my head protested the movement. I raised a hand and felt a bump the size of an egg on the side of my head. Evin. The bastard didn’t have to hit me so hard.

I swung my legs off the bed. A dozen different aches awoke, and my skin felt like it was glowing. Obviously, the werewolf quick-healing thing wasn’t working too well on my sunburn.

I was still wearing Evin’s shirt, and his scent hung on the air. How could my own brother smell so familiar and yet so strange? It was weird, and I really didn’t think it had anything to do with the lack of memory. It was something that went deeper.

Everything that was happening went far deeper than a lack of memory—of that I was sure. I just had to try to figure out the what and whys without raising anyone’s suspicions in the process. I don’t know why, but I had a bad feeling that would not be a good idea just yet.

There were voices in one of the rooms beyond mine, and it took me several minutes to realize it was probably the TV. I couldn’t hear Evin moving about, but I could smell coffee, and my stomach rumbled a reminder that I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in a while.

I scrubbed a hand across my face. I felt grimy and achy, and I desperately needed a shower, food, and coffee. But more than anything, I needed to understand what was going on.

And first on that list was remembering me.

I rose and walked across to the mirror attached to the small dressing table. My reflection was thin and sunburned. My face was pleasant enough, and there was a sense of familiarity about it—though why this surprised me, I’m not entirely sure. I mean, it was my face. What did I expect? Surgical changes?

My hair was the same red-gold as Evin’s and cut into a short, elfin style. That felt different. I touched it lightly, feeling oddly bereft. It should have been longer. Had been longer.

There were fading bruises and cuts over my cheeks and above my eyes, and one earlobe looked as if someone had taken a knife to it. Weirdly enough, that apparently didn’t prevent me from wearing earrings. They were overly large stud earrings with a blue stone in the center, and really ugly. I tried to take them off, but the damn things seemed to be attached to my flesh and would not be budged.

I frowned and undid the shirt instead. The bruises over my torso were as bad as they’d felt, and the gunshot wound looked puckered and red. It wasn’t infected, but it had been. If I’d been able to change before the accident with the roo, why hadn’t that healed? Surely I would have taken steps to heal my own flesh?

But then, if I’d been depressed, maybe not.

Maybe not remembering anything was a good thing, not bad.

I stepped back, then caught sight of the wallet sitting on the bedside table. I opened it up and dragged out the driver’s license tucked into the one of the side pockets. The picture was crappy—as they always were—but the face on the license matched the face in the mirror. And the name listed was Hanna London. I was who Evin said I was.

Even if I didn’t feel like a Hanna.

I shoved the wallet back onto the dresser and headed out the door to find Evin.

It turned out the villa apartment wasn’t very big. There was a second bedroom next to mine and, next to that, an average-looking bathroom. The main room was one big space comprised of a kitchen, a dining area, and a TV

area. The furnishings were a basic, durable pine, and the curtains and cushions consisted of an almost garish blue and yellow flower print. There wasn’t much in the way of decorations, but I guess you didn’t need them when one wall was glass, and the vista beyond was all white sand and blue ocean. Even at night, it was a sight to behold.

Evin was sitting at the table under the small front veranda reading a newspaper. I followed my nose to the coffee machine, made myself a drink, then grabbed an apple and headed outside to join him.

He looked up as I sat down, and there was a decided wariness in his gray eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I’d be great if some uncaring bastard hadn’t cracked my head open earlier tonight.” I took a sip of coffee and winced at the sharp, bitter taste. Definitely not to my liking, but it was hot and strong and better than nothing.

“Hanna, you were acting rather weird—”

“You’d be weird if you could see souls, too.” I glanced at him over the rim of my mug. “Why don’t you know about that?”

“Maybe because it was never mentioned?” He shrugged. “We may spend a lot of time together, dearest sister, but we don’t tell each other every single thing that goes on in our lives.”

But we do … Or at least, I thought we did. I bit into my apple, enjoying the juicy sweetness, then said, “So what secrets are you hiding from me? Aside from the fact you’re apparently moon-sworn.”

“That’s not a secret. You just can’t remember it.” He picked up his cup, and I saw with surprise it was tea rather than coffee.

When did my brother start drinking tea?

“How long are we staying here? And how long was I out?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What, sick of the place already?”

Wary was more like it, but I didn’t say that. I simply shrugged. He folded the paper and put it on the table. “You slept through the entire day. And we paid for seven days, and we won’t get a refund if we leave early. Neither of us can afford to lose that sort of money, so we’re stuck here until then.”

So I’d wasted a day. An entire day.

“And after the seven days are up?” I couldn’t help tensing as I said that, because the words of that stranger still echoed in my mind.

“After that, who knows?”

If he was a part of whatever was going on, why wouldn’t he know? There again, if he did know and this was a plot rather than the imaginings of a sick mind, why would he tell me?

I munched on the apple and watched him watching me. It felt weird, like we were strangers rather than brother and sister.

“What happened to the doctor you were going to call?” I tossed the apple core into the tussock grass lining the veranda. The birds and the ants could feast on what remained.

“This town has only one doctor, and he doubles as a coroner when there’s a murder. So, we’re no longer his first priority.” He hesitated, then said, “You better keep taking your tablets until we talk to him.”

I raised an eyebrow. “They were for depression and I don’t feel depressed.”

He tapped his fingers on the table, a soft drumming that for some reason annoyed me. “Maybe you don’t feel depressed, but you’ve lost your spark, Hanna. And you’ve already tried suicide once. So forgive me if I’m blunt here, but you’ll fucking take your tablets even if I have to force them down your throat, because I do not want to lose anyone here.”

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?”

As I asked the question, awareness washed over me. I was no longer alone in the strand of trees—and the thick scent of warm spices mingled with sweat said it was Harris. I internally cursed my luck, and hoped like hell he let me finish questioning the dead man’s soul.

Marcus. Marcus Landsbury.

Which wasn’t a name that seemed even remotely familiar.

“How did you end up in this field, Marcus?”

I don’t know. One moment I was walking home, the next I’m here, unable to move or talk, and some bastard is cutting my tackle off.

“So you saw him?”

No. He was wearing some sort of costume.

A sense of déjà vu ran though me. I’d heard this before, even if I couldn’t remember where.

“What sort of costume?”

A red devil mask. It had horns. He hesitated. I swear he had cloven hooves, as well.

Again that sense of familiarity. “Is there anything else you can tell me about him? Was he big? Small? Fat or thin?”

He was on the small side, but strong—really strong. He had to be, didn’t he, because I’m not exactly small. He had broad shoulders and big arms, though. Moved efficiently, like it was a job, nothing more.

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—”

“As I know.” I rubbed my head wearily. I really didn’t feel like a lecture right now. “But people around these parts probably can’t talk to souls, either. I can. But it has to be done shortly after the death, otherwise they get too weak to talk.”

And if I could remember stuff like that, then why couldn’t I remember the important stuff? It was like someone had systematically gone through my mind and erased random bits of information. Some of the big stuff, some of the small, leaving total chaos behind.

Harris stared at me for several seconds, his expression unchanged. It was hard to know whether he believed me or not.

“I think you and I need to sit down and have a serious talk.”

“As long as it’s somewhere with decent coffee and something to eat. Otherwise I’m likely to pass out on you.”

He raised an eyebrow, but all he said was “I know just the place. You need a hand?”

“Yeah, I think I might.”

He wrapped an arm around my waist, half holding me up as we moved forward. It felt like daggers were merrily stabbing at my brain, and my muscles felt incredibly shaky. Did this always happen when I talked to souls?

Something within said no. This was something new—a fresh twist on an old problem.

We didn’t head toward the police station as I’d half expected, but rather toward a little white weatherboard house on the far edge of the paddock.

“My home.” Harris opened the old wrought iron gate and led me up the garden path. Not literally, I hoped. “We can talk here unofficially, then move across to the station if I feel it’s necessary.”

He opened the door one-handed—obviously, being the town cop meant never having to lock it—then helped me inside.

The hallway was long and wide, with various doorways leading off it. The walls were painted a warm off-white and decorated with brilliant photos of the sea and surrounding countryside that gave the place a bright and homey feel. The floors were timber and well worn, creaking slightly as he led me down to the end of the hall. The room beyond was a huge kitchen.

“Have a seat,” he said, motioning me toward the old oak table and chairs. “What sort of coffee do you want?”

“Hazelnut.” I said it automatically, and wished again that the important things would pop back as easily.

“I meant decaf or regular.” There was amusement in his voice. “We country folks don’t go for those fancy mixes.”

“Regular. And trust me, not many city folks are into hazelnut, either.”

I pulled out a chair and watched him make the coffee. He moved with an economy that spoke of both grace and understated power. It was nice to watch.

He pulled some bread and sandwich fillings out of the fridge and dumped them on the table, then grabbed the coffees and some knives, and brought them over.

“Help yourself,” he said, handing me my coffee before sitting down opposite.

I raised an eyebrow. “No plates?”

“The table’s clean and it saves washing up.”

I snorted softly. A man after my own heart. I grabbed the bread, slapped on some butter, then added several thick slices of beef and cheese. It was the best thing I’d tasted in ages.

“So,” he said, once I’d demolished the first sandwich and made inroads on the second. “Have long have you been able to see souls?”

I shrugged. “I can’t say, simply because I can’t remember.”

“Really?” There was disbelief in his voice again.

“Really,” I echoed, trying to control the sweep of irritation. “I can’t actually remember anything before my accident. I didn’t even know my name until Evin told me.”

His gaze rose to my head. “That sort of memory loss is extremely unusual. And I can’t see a wound that would indicate extreme trauma.”

And yet Evin had said there was.

“No.” I finished the second sandwich and wrapped my hands around the mug of coffee. “Bits and pieces are slowly coming back, but nothing major. It’s frustrating.”

“I bet.” He took a drink of his coffee, then said, “So this soul talked to you?”

“It did. You were there early enough to hear my end of the conversation, though.”

He nodded. “How did you know his name was Marcus?”

“He told me. Marcus Landsbury. He was apparently jailed for a long period for the rape and torture of a couple of teenage girls.” I paused. “But I guess you know all that.”

“I do,” he said. “And I suspect his crime had a lot to do with the method of his demise.”

You didn’t have to be a cop to figure that out. “Yeah. Only he said he didn’t do the crime alone, and if his partner is also in town, you’d better find him. He’s probably next on the list.”

“His partner hasn’t been sighted in town, nor have we had any notification that he’s coming.” Harris studied me for a moment. “What makes you think his partner is next? This might just be a random murder.”

He didn’t believe that any more than I did. I shrugged and said, “I have a feeling I’ve seen something like this before.”

“Back in the past you can’t remember?”

Again the suggestion that it was a little too convenient—not that I could really blame him for thinking that. I took another sip of coffee and didn’t bother answering.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach the blue of his eyes. “What else did he say?”

“That the man who attacked him used some form of immobilizing spray that made it impossible to scream, and that he was wearing a costume. A red devil costume complete with cloven hooves.”

“So you saw the tracks?”

“Yes. And I’ve seen them before.”

“Where? Wait, you can’t remember, right?”

I lowered my cup and stared him straight in the eye. “Either boot me out or arrest me if you don’t believe me, but don’t sit there making snide remarks. I’m trying to be helpful.”

“I’ll reserve judgment on that.” He reached forward and snagged a slice of beef, munching on it as he studied me. “Tranquilizers can act that quickly, but I’ve never heard of a spray capable of the same thing.”

“Well, they’re out there.” I grabbed another piece of bread and rolled it around a bit of cheese. “What’s happening with the autopsy?”

“It’ll get done,” he said mildly. “I’m more interested in you and your brother.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because there are several strange things about the pair of you.”

A smile teased my lips. “You’re not the first person to say that.”

He didn’t look amused and I resisted the urge to sigh.

“I did some investigating when you were reported missing,” he said. “The owners of the Bayview can’t remember seeing you when your brother registered, and no one in town saw you wandering about before you went missing—although they can remember Evin coming in to buy groceries or to use the phone in the pub.”

I shrugged. “Evin said I’d been depressed. Maybe I was just keeping to myself.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But it’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think, that not even an hour after you’ve been found, a mutilated body turns up? A body that you and your brother just happen to come across?”

I leaned back in my chair and stared at him. “Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to murder someone like that, then hang around not only to report it, but hand you a whole series of clues?”

He raised his eyebrows, his gaze assessing. “Why not? There’s plenty of documented evidence about murderers getting their jollies by pretending to be witnesses.”

I slammed my hands down the table and tried to control the anger that whipped through me. He was only doing his job, I knew that, but damn it, I was trying to help. “That man was attacked while I was out in the desert. Check with Frank as to where and when I was found if you don’t believe me or Evin. In the meantime, why don’t you run a check for similar crimes? Because this has happened somewhere before, I’m sure of it. And while you’re there, run a check on me. That way you’ll know whether I’m dangerous or not.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you’re dangerous, lady,” he said softly, his blue eyes glinting. “The question is, are you a murderer or merely a fruitcake?”