But I Need You (This Love Hurts 2)

So I keep my eyes open and ask again, “How did you get in?”

“The same as before. Does it matter?” he asks and I shake my head although it feels deceitful. Of course it matters. Every detail matters.

“I have a question for you,” I say and the words come out unbidden.

“I have some for you too, want to trade?” Amusement laces his response and I can’t ignore the stir in the pit of my belly.

There’s a touch of menace in his question but I gather my strength and my sanity, refusing to fall deeper into the hole I’ve found myself in.

“How did you get in before? The power didn’t go out then.” Although the second statement is firm with resolve, the moment it slips from my lips I question its truthfulness.

His tone reflects boredom and that strikes a chord inside of me as he turns his back against the wall, no longer looking at me. Instead he stares at my door and all I’m offered is a silhouette. “I know your security code; I know the brother of a man who was on your security detail who was preoccupied with … a more pressing matter. Another was busy with a broken light in the parking lot. Distractions. I get in with distractions and contacts and information that’s easily traded.”

With his tired and clearly disappointed response, he inhales deeply and I ask another question, some mundane part of me still stuck on the how or possibly not yet willing to dare ask about the why.

“Who told you the code?”

With another tsk he reprimands me, much more seemingly entertained. It’s then that I find I’ve repositioned myself to face him squarely. With his head still firm against the far wall of my bedroom, he turns to look at me and for a moment, I see an outline of his face.

The way he turned and a hint of light from a passing car down the back alley behind my apartment aid me in the moment.

There are details of plump lips and a sharp jawline. Not the hideous face of a killer I once placed on him years ago. I dare to think that he’s handsome even. But just as quickly as the light fell on his face, it’s gone.

“I have a question for you first.” A hum of what could be laughter is caught between his lips as he straightens to ask me, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Tell who?”

“I don’t want to play games, Delilah. The kiss.” The singular word is hissed although there’s no anger that lingers. Not even a threat lays on the word, yet it sounds worse than sinful. “You didn’t tell Cody about our … moment.”

“I—” It’s a struggle to identify why, caught in his gaze I can’t decipher. The moment after between Cody and I … I should have, but I lied. “I didn’t want to upset him.”

“It’s not because you’re ashamed?” he asks.

“Maybe partly,” I say and the heat of anxiety dances along my skin with the admission. It doesn’t escape me that this man could do awful things to me if only he wanted, and yet again, I find myself glancing at the gun. I’m dealing with a sociopath; at least that’s what his profile determined years ago. I’m well aware of the risks. A smidgen of fear trickles down my spine at the thought of disappointing him … but I imagine it would be much worse if I lied. Something in my gut refuses to let go of that hunch.

It’s Marcus’s sudden movement that prevents me from lingering on the horrid possibilities. With an easy stride he takes up residence by my vanity in a tufted chair that’s far too small for him. It’s almost like a throne he’s outgrown.

“It’s been a long day and I’m sure you have more … interesting questions than the last one you asked?”

His statement lingers in the warm night air as the heater kicks on and I can’t remember what I asked him last, only that my first question bored him. “I’ll give you one more question. Only one. Do you still want to know how I knew the code? Or is there something else burning inside you’d rather have answered?”

His posture isn’t expectant as he waits for me, but it’s in this moment I decide to take advantage of the opportunity to ask him what pricks at the farthest spot of my consciousness. The article about Cody’s brother and the other boys that would still light up on my laptop screen if only I brought it to life will haunt me if I don’t ask.

“Do you know about …” Hesitation wraps itself around me and I have to clear my throat before continuing, “What do you know about Christopher Walsh or the other boy who died … the one named Marcus?”