I pushed into a sitting position, my legs on either side of his body and my weight resting firmly on his butt, doing nothing more than breathing deeply for several minutes. When the tide of weakness began to fade, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and looked down at my captive.
Now what did I do with him?
It wasn't practical to drag him back to the car with me—not only because some do-gooder was bound to intervene, but because he was a good foot taller than me. And despite his thin frame, his body felt like steel. The minute he came to, he'd have me beat in reach and strength.
Which meant I'd have to question him here. I glanced around, checking that we were still alone and that the cameras definitely didn't scan this particular corner, then rose and looked inside the car he'd opened. There wasn't anything useful in the backseat, so I popped the trunk and checked that out. And discovered the owner was obviously into hiking, because there was not only a backpack filled with gear, but also hiking boots.
I pulled the laces free, then slammed the trunk closed and grabbed my prisoner's arms, hauling them behind his back. I tied one lace around his wrists, and the other around his thumbs. They might not hold him for long, but I didn't really need much time.
I rolled him onto his back, then dropped down onto his stomach and slapped his face. "Hey! Wake up."
His eyelids flickered. I slapped him again, harder this time, the sound echoing.
Brown eyes were suddenly glaring at me balefully. "Get off me, bitch."
"Tell me why you were following us, and I might consider it."
"We weren't following anyone. You're fucking crazy."
The words were barely out of his mouth, and he was bucking like a mad thing, trying to dislodge me. I rode the first few attempts, then punched him in the diaphragm. Hard. He gasped, and for several seconds made like a fish out of water as he struggled to suck in air. I felt a little sorry for him—until I remembered that he might just be involved with the people who had tried to kill Ilianna.
"Why were you following me?" I repeated.
"Fuck you, lady!"
I hit him again. He swore—fluently and creatively—when he was able, but otherwise he remained tight-lipped. I sighed. I had two choices. Either I could call Rhoan and let him deal with the man—and in the process lose any hope of gaining additional information on the who and why behind all this—or I could play hardball.