“Gonna make me ask again?” he said.
Marcus grunted and looked away from the three men towards the guards. There were no watchtowers here, only two guards that watched the entrance and exit of the yard to the jail proper. Both were doing their best job to look the other way.
“Listen to me, freak,” the man said. Marcus turned back from the guards and knew they would be no help. He’d done his best to avoid trouble while in jail – but it had found him.
“What?” he growled, if a little weakly. “What do you want?”
“We’ve heard something about you,” the man told him.
“That I’m a killer?”
The man elbowed one of the men next to him. “We’re all killers here, friend.”
“I’m not your friend.”
“That’s true,” the man said, narrowing his eyes at Marcus. “We heard you’re a cop.”
“You heard wrong, then,” Marcus said, turning from the man. He didn’t want to get into an argument with the man – he just wanted to sit down, enjoy the heat and try to keep his mind off of what a miserable excuse his life had been.
“You’re a cop,” the man said, raising his voice. “We don’t like cops.”
“I haven’t been a Sheriff for a long time,” Marcus said offhandedly. There was no use denying it now. These men had made up their minds, no matter what Marcus said. “Now leave me alone.”
“We don’t like cops,” the man repeated, and suddenly they were moving in towards him, much faster than Marcus would have expected. The man on the left had a sock with something in it – probably a bar of soap, just like he’d always seen in the movies. The man on his right was unarmed – but the leader, the speaker – had a small prison shank.
Marcus leapt up. But he was slow, slower than he would have ever thought possible for himself to be. He’d barely gotten his feet underneath him on the ground when the sock hit him squarely in the temple, dropping him to one knee and the other man collided with him, taking them both to the ground. Marcus longed to shift – he hadn’t in so long he didn’t know if he could remember how – but he knew he couldn’t even if he had wanted to.
Marcus brought his hands up to protect his face as the sock came back down. Marcus felt a flash of pain on his forearm, then he lashed out and snatched at the sock. He managed to grab the soap inside of it, yanking hard, hard enough to pull the attacker onto the dusty soil. The other man was raining blows down on him and Marcus rolled over on top of him.
He brought a fist down on the man’s face, breaking his nose in an explosion of blood, twisting his body around just in the nick of time as the shank came sliding in. It had been aimed at his ribs but his twisting motion had been enough to divert the attack – he felt the blade rake across his ribs but slide mercifully away from his body instead of inside it.
The man with the sock was getting to his feet and Marcus kicked his leg out as he got to his feet, aiming it directly at the man’s knee. There was a crack and a scream of pain as the man’s knee went the wrong way and he collapsed to the ground.
The man with the shank was regaining his balance and swinging in again. Marcus turned and grabbed the man’s wrist with the shank in it with both hands, stopping it inches from his chest. The man’s eyes went wide as he forced the blade down, closer, closer to Marcus’s heart. Marcus pushed with all of his might and the man’s eyes started to widen even more as Marcus turned the man’s wrists around, pointing the blade back at him.
Then Marcus was pushing the blade towards the man and it was growing closer, inches from the man’s shoulder. “Please!” he begged, yet Marcus couldn’t stop himself even if he had wanted to. The man screamed in pain as the shank sank into he left shoulder, just below the collarbone. Marcus pushed deeper, deeper –
And then he felt an explosion of pain in his right side, an explosion that felt like his ribs were breaking. He gasped for air, falling to the ground, and he realized that he’d been shot with nonlethal shotgun pellets. He gasped for air, finding that he couldn’t breathe.
He fell into the dusty, bloody dirt, then there were boots flying at his body, his chest, his bruised and cut ribs, his face, neck, legs, everywhere a foot could find.
Then he was being pulled upwards, heavy arms underneath his armpits, his feet dragging limply behind him.
“You done messed up, freak,” one of the guards spat. “Looks like you’re gonna be locked up in solitary.”
“I didn’t…” Marcus coughed, spitting the blood from a split lip. His head felt foggy. “I didn’t start that.”
But the men didn’t seem to care. They hauled Marcus through the gate, into the facility. They yanked him bodily past empty cells. He’d found his feet but he was stumbling, barely able to keep up with the two guards pulling him through the building.
He’d never been in solitary before. He almost smiled. Being alone with his thoughts wouldn’t be so bad.
Then he heard someone scream, “Marcus? Marcus! What’s happening?”
He felt his neck jerk around, almost as if someone else was controlling him, and he saw Angie on the other side of the bars.
He’d never seen anyone that looked so beautiful.
He opened his mouth to say her name, to tell her how much he loved her, and that he needed help… But he couldn’t seem to get the words out. The guards pulled him past her, through a large, gray metal door, and it slammed shut behind them and Angie disappeared from view.
Chapter 3
Angie watched as Marcus was hauled away and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Without even realizing what she was doing, she was pounding her fists against the door, yelling his name. Then there were hands on her, yanking her back, telling her she had to leave. She shrugged out of their grasp, yelled, “Okay, okay, I’m leaving!” and left as the stunned guards watched her go.
Outside her mood didn’t improve. After leaving New York and settling down in Charming, Angie didn’t know if she could live in a big city again. She hated the feeling. Marcus had been transferred to Tucson to await his trial and she didn’t relish the drive back to Charming with Branson next to her.
He wasn’t a bad man by any means. On the contrary, he was a good man. Angie had made complete sure of that before she’d hired him.
He was leaning on the car, his golden eyes following her as she made her way down to him.
“That was quick,” he grunted.
“They were locking him up,” she said. When he gave her a look, she continued, “I didn’t ask why.”
Angie climbed into the driver’s seat and Branson the passenger, and they were off into traffic, fighting their way free of Tucson. Angie sighed, cranked the AC to full blast, and shut her emotions out. Next to her, Branson kept his mouth shut – just like she wanted.
They were an hour outside of Tucson, making their way back to Charming, fields of nothingness flashing by when Branson suddenly said, “I’ll get him. That’s a promise.”
“I know you will,” she agreed, nodding sagely as she did so. He’d shown up in Charming almost a week after Marcus had been arrested for the murders of the FBI agents. While everyone else was pointing the finger at Marcus, Branson had been searching for the real killer. He’d come to Angie and explained what he was doing in Charming – and after some careful vetting and proof that he had been nowhere near where the murders had took place – she’d accepted his offer to help track down the killer. He’d kept his reasons for hunting the killer down close to his chest, though Angie knew it had to be personal.
She trusted Branson, even if most of the other Shifters she’d met in her life had been less than honorable. He was different than Marcus, though. While Marcus was usually calm and collected, kind and careful, Branson was almost the complete opposite. He was after the killer and would stop at nothing to stop him. Still, she trusted him.
Pulling into Charming, she realized she couldn’t say the same about what had happened in the months that followed Marcus’s arrest.
The
first thing had been the reporters that had flooded in. Most had dissipated in the weeks following Marcus’s arrest. Some – a few that Angie absolutely despised and were always knocking on her door for interviews – were still around. Still, it had been good for Charming’s businesses, so most of the natives didn’t mind the spotlight.
When most of the reporters had disappeared to chase their next big story, others had shown up in town. Angie hadn’t noticed them at first, but as time went by, she started to see more and more unfamiliar faces. The Copelands had been delighted – people were actually moving to Charming. Angie couldn’t figure out why until Joanna Rivers had explained that they were thrill seekers, sickos that wanted to actually marry the serial killer, and all sorts of other strange and twisted people.
Seeing them on the sidewalks made Angie’s stomach squirm.
Of course, there had been a few people that had left town, though Angie didn’t know their names. They were mostly families and Angie couldn’t blame them. Her job of rebuilding the town had come to a grinding halt and she didn’t think it would ever pick back up.
They pulled up to Butchie’s and stepped out of the car. Even early in the afternoon, the place was busy.
Good. The less he knows, the better.
Branson and Angie walked into the dark and cool bar, relief flooding over her to get out of the sun. Butchie usually kept the place bright but today was different. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she looked over at him. He was behind the bar, drying a glass, and gave her the ever slightest nod. She did the same and surveyed the room.
The new Sheriff was sitting at the bar, his eyes harsh on her. Angie had never talked to the man but there was something there, some dislike, some hatred, that she could almost feel aimed at her. He watched as they made their way to the back of the bar, finding the round table in the alcove.
Seated at it was Joanna and Jimmy Rivers, along with Stu Copeland. The tension could almost be cut with a knife and it didn’t help when Angie’s eyes fell on Jimmy Rivers, who had previously tried to kill her. She felt her stomach churn again but pushed it away and sat down at the table next to Joanna Rivers.
They still weren’t friends – Angie didn’t think they ever would be – but she’d grown a grudging respect towards the woman. As long as she keeps her hands off of Marcus. Angie could see it in her eyes the way Joanna Rivers still considered Marcus a prize. In a way, that made Angie feel a bit better. Even though everyone else in the town hated Marcus, Joanna Rivers could still see that he was a good man.
“Well?” she asked. “What’d he say?”
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to him.”
Butchie came over to take their drink orders and to say, “Sheriff’s been pressing me pretty harshly about what you guys have been discussing over here these past few weeks.”
“What do you tell him?” Branson asked. Then, “Whiskey.”
“Nothing,” Butchie said. “Marcus had done a lot for me over the years. Never once asked for any kind of favor or didn’t do what needed to be done. I’d do anything for him.”
“Thanks, Butchie,” Joanna said, ordering herself some kind of mixed drink while the other two just ordered waters.
“You didn’t get a chance to talk to him?” Joanna asked.
“He was being hauled away when I got there. He looked pretty rough. Beat up.”
“Shit,” muttered Jimmy . He looked a little guilty, as if just hearing about it reminded him of what he had done.
“And what’s the lawyer have to say?”
Angie hesitated and then said, “He’s gone. For now. Until the case advances further. He went back to New York.”
“So let me get this straight. There’s a serial killer on the loose in our town and the one man who can stop him is locked up,” Joanna said, looking over at the table. She glanced at Branson and said, “No offense.” He nodded. “And the man who is supposed to be able to get him out of prison is gone.” She threw up her hands. “What are we going to do?”
Angie didn’t have the answer. She felt as helpless as she ever had. Through the toughest times of her recent life, she’d always had Marcus by her side. Even when things were dangerous she had felt safe knowing that he was right there with her. Now…
“What’s goin’ on back here?” a voice asked from over Angie’s shoulder. She turned around to see the Sheriff coming over to see what they were doing, whispering in the back of the bar. Butchie came back with their drinks, nervously handing them out and then making himself scarce.
The man’s nametag said Sheriff Nixon. Angie looked away and glanced down at her water. The last thing she wanted to do was make trouble for herself when the best thing she could do was keep her head down.
“Just a couple of friends catching up, Sheriff,” Joanna said, giving him her best smile. Angie spared a glance and she saw that the Sheriff wasn’t buying it.
“You’re telling me that you’re all friends? That you’re not up to something?” the Sheriff asked, his voice dangerous. Angie shivered. She remembered what had happened when the law had exerted itself onto Charming. The FBI Shifters had been brutal and violent. They’d kidnapped her, beat her, and almost killed her. She didn’t relish the thought of another man in power doing whatever he pleased.
“Yes, sir,” Branson grunted.
“Is that so?” the man asked. Angie could feel him standing behind her, looming over her and looking at the table. “You. You’re Joanna Rivers, heir to your father’s crown in this little pisshole. And there’s your brother, sitting across from the woman he almost shot to death. And Copeland? Shit, it’s a wonder it wasn’t you who killed all those poor folk. It would really fit the profile with your serial killer father and brother. Are you sure we didn’t lock up the wrong guy?” He laughed then but no one else at the table was laughing. “And what’s your name, son?”
Branson just grunted. The Sheriff’s gaze must have been intense, because finally, he said, “Branson.”
“Branson, huh?” he asked and Angie watched as he leaned down between the two of them, facing Branson. “I know what you are. What those golden eyes mean. And I know that our little serial killer has those same eyes, so I’m keeping my bright blues on you. Remember that.”
Branson nodded, rage flaring up, but he took a sip of his drink and did his best to look away from the Sheriff.
A bad feeling had settled over Angie.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Angie Campbell. You’ve been the center of Charming for some time now. You hooked up with Stone – I know you did. Was Daddy Copeland just another murder to him? And did you know?” The hairs on the back of Angie’s neck were standing up but she didn’t answer. She wanted to lash out at this nasty man – but she kept herself in check. She didn’t need to wind up in a cell next to Marcus. Though being able to talk to him would be nice, after all. “Did you know that you were bedding a serial killer? It must turn your poor little stomach to know that you shared the same bed as him. And now you’re sharing a table with these people.
“I know there’s something going on here. I’d hope it would have nothing to do with Stone, locked up in Tucson, but I’m not stupid. I’ll be watching you.”
And with that, he was gone, his boots thumping on the floor of Butchie’s bar. Angie released a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. She put her hands flat on the table and saw they were shaking. Everyone else at the table looked almost as shaken up as she felt.
“We’ll figure out what our next move is to keep Charming safe some other time,” said Joanna as her and her brother got to their feet. She squeezed Angie on the shoulder, though it didn’t offer any comfort. Stu Copeland didn’t say anything; he just got to his feet and left. “I’ll be in the car,” Branson said, leaving Angie sitting at the table alone.
Marcus. We need you. I need you. Now, more than ever. I can’t do this without you. There’s someone out there. Someone that’s targeting me and it’s only a matter of time before he stri
kes. If you’re not here, Marcus…
If you’re not here, what’s going to happen to me?
Chapter 4
Marcus hurt. He couldn’t describe one single place that the pain was coming from; it seemed to be coming from all over. He grimaced as he sat up in his dark cell.
He thought he would enjoy the solitude, but it was deafening. He wanted Angie. He wanted to find himself in her warm embrace, wrapped tightly in her arms, in their bed with nothing to worry them. Marcus didn’t think that would ever happen again.
He touched one eye gingerly. It had been swollen shut the day before – at least, he thought it had been the day before, but all time seemed to blur – but it was slowly opening. He knew being a Shifter got him in trouble more often than not, but he was thankful that he could heal quickly.
His ears heard the sound of footsteps coming towards him. Carefully, Marcus got to his feet and went to the door, though the little metal slot that his food was pushed through was closed. He was in complete darkness – so complete that he had trouble seeing, even with his heightened eyesight.
The doors open and light flooded the room, blinding him for a few moments. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and saw that there were two guards approaching him. Marcus instinctively flinched backwards, simultaneously proud that he had enough foresight to get out of their way and disgusted in himself for backing down from these men.
“Let’s go, freak,” one of them said, grabbing him harshly. He went without protest. He felt the familiar cold metal of handcuffs slamming around his wrists, then he was pushed forward, stumbling ever so slightly. He found himself heading down the hallway he’d previously been pulled down, barely on his feet. He hadn’t expected to leave solitary so quickly, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
Instead of taking him back towards the cells, however, the men led him towards the front of the building. They stopped him at the door where he’d seen Angie a day ago – has it been longer? – And then there was the sound of a door unlocking and they were pushing him through it. Marcus saw sunlight streaming in through the windows.
Mate’s Harvest: Bear Sheriff III Page 2
