I stood up and started to walk in the opposite direction, but . . .’ He sighed. ‘She was crying.’
‘So you stayed?’ Deacon asked carefully.
Marcus leveled him a sharp glare. ‘Only long enough to ask her why she was crying and if she needed help. She just turned and ran away. I started to follow her, but BB can’t run anymore. By the time I picked up the dog, the girl was gone.’
‘When did you see her again?’ Scarlett asked, her mind suddenly filled with the image of him cradling an old dog in his arms.
‘The next night, but not as close up. I went back at one in the morning, sat on the bench and waited, but she stayed back so far that I didn’t see her. But I did see her dog. She wore black, but the poodle is white, so he showed up through the trees. I called out to her, but she ran again. Then the third night, she came close enough that I could see she was crying again.’
Scarlett studied Marcus’s face. He was holding something back. ‘What made her come close the third night?’
He hesitated, then rolled his eyes. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe because I was singing.’
Again she and Deacon blinked. ‘You were singing?’ she echoed. ‘As in . . . a song?’
He scowled at her. ‘Yes, as in a song. I was all alone the first night. Or thought I was. I sometimes sing when I’m alone. I thought if I sang again she might come closer.’
Fascinating. His blush had deepened, his shoulders hunching defensively. He thought she was going to laugh at him. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was drawn by his voice too. When he spoke, she heard music. The saddest music she’d ever heard, she’d thought the very first time she’d heard him speak. That he used that voice to make actual music was no surprise.
‘I sing when I’m alone too,’ she said quietly. ‘Mostly because nobody wants to hear me. I take it that Tala wanted to hear you.’
The stiffness in his shoulders melted a bit. ‘Yeah. I guess she did.’
‘What were you singing?’ Deacon asked.
His jaw tightened. ‘Vince Gill. “Go Rest High On That Mountain”.’
Scarlett sucked in a breath, the ache in her chest sudden and sharp. She’d heard that song too many times, at too many funerals. The first funeral at which she’d heard it still haunted her nightmares.
That the most recent one still haunted Marcus was evident from the pain on his face.
‘I understand,’ she whispered. He met her eyes, and she could see that he believed her.
Deacon was looking at them, confused. ‘I don’t. What is that song?’
‘It’s a country song,’ Scarlett said, holding Marcus’s gaze. ‘Vince Gill wrote it for his brother, after his brother’s death. It’s often played at funerals. It was played at Marcus’s brother’s funeral.’ Her throat grew thick and she swallowed hard. ‘It was a good choice.’
Marcus’s eyes flickered, gratitude mixing with the pain.
Deacon let out a quiet breath. Critically wounded while taking down Marcus’s brother’s killer, he hadn’t attended the seventeen-year-old’s funeral, but he had seen the boy’s dead body in its shallow grave. As had Scarlett.
As had Marcus. Scarlett wished she could have kept him from having that picture in his mind. He was clearly still grieving. Seeing his brother’s body tossed into a grave like so much trash would make healing that much harder. This Scarlett knew from experience.
‘I see,’ Deacon said quietly. ‘So Tala was drawn by the song that night. Did she speak to you then?’
Marcus shifted his body, staring at the crime scene once again, breaking their connection. ‘No. She never spoke until tonight. I kept going back to the park at one A.M. , hoping she’d tell me why she was so afraid. After the first few nights, I brought my guitar with me. I thought maybe she’d find me less threatening if my hands were full, but that wasn’t the case. She let the dog approach close enough for me to pet it, but the closest Tala came to me
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