A Murder in Time (46 page)

Still, she believed what she'd told Aldridge. Gabriel had lost it. And if both women had been viciously and uncontrollably stabbed, he'd be her main suspect. But they were dealing with a killer with ice water running through his veins, a killer who actually felt in control enough to taunt the investigators by deliberately positioning April Duprey's body across a public path.

The vast majority of serial killers existed in the darkest seams of humanity. They didn't want notoriety. They never sought to bring attention to themselves or what they considered to be their work. They went about their gruesome business, leading dual lives, as noiselessly, as unobtrusively, as possible.

Yet there were a few who made a game out of it. They enjoyed stirring up the media, provoking the police.
I'm smarter than you.
It was, Kendra knew, another form of control. Dennis Rader, the brutal killer in Wichita, Kansas, had even created his own sobriquet by using BTK—Bind, Torture, Kill—in his public correspondence. He'd taken special joy out of offering up detailed descriptions of his murders. And David Berkowitz, who had identified himself as the Son of Sam, had sent notes to the press and police, labeling himself a monster.

You couldn't be afraid of the monster under the bed if you didn't know he was there. With April Duprey's body, the monster had let them know he was there. And he wanted to play.

She rubbed her arms, mentally reviewing the interviews that they'd conducted. Harcourt's alibi for yesterday held up—the Duke had questioned the men in the hunting party; they'd insisted the captain had been with them the entire time. But she wondered what he was hiding from the previous Sunday night. It didn't really matter, she supposed, except for being a loose thread—and she hated loose threads.

Except for Gabriel, who'd gone off like a rocket, the rest of the men had exhibited remarkably similar behavior during the interview process, voicing insult, anger, outrage. They'd also cooperated. Or appeared to cooperate.

Something tickled at the back of her mind. She frowned. Mentally, she flipped through the interviews. Someone had said something that was just a little bit off.
What was it?
But it remained elusive, as bothersome as an itch she couldn't scratch.

Then another sensation assailed her, a cold prickle at the back of her neck. This time she could pinpoint the source: she knew that she was no longer alone on the roof.

Slowly, she pivoted to peer into the thick shadows below. As she watched, one shadow detached itself, solidifying into the silhouette of a man. She tensed when the silvery rays of the moon fell across Alec's chiseled features.

As he walked toward her, she moved to the short flight of stairs that led off the battlements to the roof. He met her halfway, lifting his hand for assistance. She hesitated briefly, then placed her hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against her chilly fingers. His gaze flicked to the marks circling her throat, and his hand tightened around hers. The green eyes were colorless in the moonlight. Kendra tried to identify the emotion flaring in them. Anger, yes. And, she thought, remorse.

“Gabriel did this to you?” He lifted his other hand, fingertips grazing the discolorations. His touch was featherlight, but her skin tingled from the contact. “You warned me. This is my fault.”

“No.”

“He's my brother.”

“You're not your brother's keeper.”

“By God, he needs a keeper!” He frowned, puzzled. “Duke said you don't believe he killed those prostitutes.”

“Did he tell you what I base my conclusions on?”

“He lacks control, or some other such nonsense.”

It probably did sound like nonsense to them. “We're looking for a very specific sort of individual,” she told him. “I deliberately gave your brother a great deal of stress to see how he'd react. I knew that he was . . . sensitive about his mother. I used that against him. Do you understand?”

“I understand Gabriel tried to strangle you, Miss Donovan. The first girl
was
strangled.”

“It's not the same.” She folded her arms in front of her chest. “Someday, someone will push him and he'll have a weapon in his hand, or he'll strangle someone who can't fight back. But it'll be an impulsive act. Hot-blooded.”

Alec gave her a somber look. “I do not know what to do with him.”

“Intense psychotherapy maybe.”

“Pardon?”

She sighed. “Maybe you should just try talking to him?”

“Don't you think I haven't tried?” he began, and then paused, shaking his head. He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, it wasn't about his brother. “You're shivering, Miss Donovan.”

She shrugged away his concern, but he was already taking off his jacket, dropping it over her shoulders. His hands stayed there, his eyes darkening as he stared at her.

She was intensely aware of him, every detail, from his lean strength, the warmth of his body, the smell of his skin, the way his dark hair fell against his forehead. The tingle she'd felt earlier became a hum. She knew he was going to kiss her. She just didn't know how she felt about it.

Still, she didn't step back when he slid his fingers into her hair to cradle the back of her head. The action nudged her closer. She hesitated rather than resisted, her mind spinning with all the reasons why this was a bad idea.
Too many reasons.

“Kendra,” he whispered.

It was, she realized with a jolt, the first time he'd ever said her name. In this era, where the formal address was used even between husbands and wives, it seemed intensely intimate. How would she feel when he actually kissed her?

She had only a half a second to wonder before he
was
kissing her, his lips pressing against hers, softly at first, then more deeply, with growing passion. Her brain seemed to short-circuit, overwhelmed by the sheer physical pleasure of his stroking tongue, his slanting mouth. Hazily, she was aware of his hands moving up and down her back. She pressed closer, the jacket sliding off her shoulders as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tunneling through his thick hair, giving as good as she got.

She was shivering again, but this time it was from excitement. And a deep hot need.

He pulled back slightly to give her a look, eyes gleaming black in the moonlight. Then he tightened his arms, and bent for another long, savoring kiss that was as earth-shattering as the one before. Kendra didn't know how long it went on—the guy could kiss—before she pulled back. “Wait.
Wow
.”

Deprived of her mouth, Alec nibbled a sizzling path across a high cheekbone to her ear. She was out of breath. It made her instantly wary. She'd known there was an attraction—and how tepid that word sounded.
Attraction
she could handle, that slightly warm undercurrent, the glow. The buzz. But this was somehow . . .
more
. It was too intense, too intimate. She felt as though her skin was on fire, her bones melting against the hard length of his body. As his mouth found a sensitive spot below her ear, she clutched at his shoulders and arched against him.

I don't belong here.

Blood pounded in her ears. “We can't do this.”

“I believe we can,” he murmured, and brought his mouth back to hers.

She was again breathless by the time they finally eased away from each other. With more than a little satisfaction, she noticed that he was breathing heavily as well.

Then he blinked. He looked like he was coming out of a dream, and entering into something unpleasant. “Good God, what am I doing?”

“I assume that's a rhetorical question.”

He dropped his hands and stepped away from her. “Forgive me, Miss Donovan.”

Miss Donovan again.

“It was just a kiss.” A really
good
kiss, a freaking
fabulous
kiss. But still.

He gave her a strange look. “My actions are inexcusable. I am no better than my brother.”

“You didn't try to strangle me.”

“I took advantage of you! It could be said that I compromised you.”

They were alone, and they'd kissed. In this era, that was enough to force the issue of marriage. No wonder he looked so freaked out.
Men
, she thought. Regardless of century, they always believed they were the center of a woman's world.

Although, she had to concede, in this era, that assumption was understandable. Women had few resources outside of marriage available to them, and with Alec's good looks, title, and fortune, he'd probably spent most of his life dodging women whose biggest ambition was to drag him up the aisle.

“
I
won't be saying that.” Her irritation increased when she recognized the wariness and skepticism in his gaze. He looked like an animal that had just realized it was sitting in the middle of a trap. “You're safe, Lord Sutcliffe. I'm not interested in marrying you, or anyone else.”

“You have no wish to wed?”

“Don't sound so shocked. I've got more things on my mind than marriage, my Lord.” Like finding a murderer. And going home.

April Duprey.

They knew her name. The Bow Street Runner had gone to the establishment on Bacon Street to ferret out more information.

He'd been careful, he reminded himself. His only dealings had been with the bawd and her little whore. Still, what if they'd confided in another strumpet? Would he get another note? Another extortion attempt? Or would they whisper his name to the thief-taker?

The thought sent panic skittering through him, followed by a molten rage.

It's the bitch's fault!

Kendra Donovan.

He stood in front of the window, staring into the night, and thought of yesterday with the whore. The memory exhilarated him. He remembered the utter power that had flooded him when she'd looked at him with shock after he'd cut her. When she
knew.

She'd stumbled back, then. And ran.

Her golden hair had come undone, catching in branches as she'd plunged heedlessly through the forest. It must have caused her pain, but she never once stopped. Sometimes, she had tripped. Yet she'd scampered to her feet quickly, looking back at him, her face white with terror. She hadn't known that he'd kept his horse reined in so as not to trample on her and finish the game too quickly.

Closing his eyes, he smiled, recalling how the whore had fallen the last time. It was as though she'd known it was the end. She'd been crying, her face streaked with dirt and tears, and she'd begun pleading with him, bargaining, offering herself, offering her other whores.

He'd smelled her fear.

She'd tried to crawl away. He'd straddled her. She'd been mesmerized by the blade as he deliberately raised it above her, then held it for a moment, before he'd thrust it into her chest.

The experience had been . . . pleasurable. But not satisfying, not like the others. She'd died too quickly. Not that he'd ever had any intention of playing with her as he had the others. To put his mark on her—the desire simply wasn't there.

This had been a different game entirely.

As he thought of the others, his skin tightened. The pressure built. He opened his eyes, staring at his own reflection in the glass windowpanes. This time, when he thought of Kendra Donovan, he felt calmer. He was in control. An idea began to take shape, and he smiled. He would teach the bitch a lesson.

Soon.

44

If Finch was surprised to find Alec knocking on Gabriel's door at half past eight in the morning, he didn't show it. He cast a hasty glance into the room behind him, then departed without a word. Alec closed the door, frowning at his brother, who was soaking in a copper tub, a rag over his eyes. With a glass of whiskey on the floor.

The sight infuriated Alec. “'Tis morning, Gabe.”

“What are you, the bloody Watch now, Sutcliffe?” Gabriel muttered, and pulled the rag away from his face so he could squint up at Alec.

Even though he'd been expecting it, Alec was startled by his brother's appearance. The violet shadows beneath his eyes looked like someone had given him two shiners. The eyes themselves were such a burning red that it almost hurt to look at him.

“I see Miss Donovan left her mark on you, as you did her.”

Gabriel's face darkened. “Bugger off!”

“No. Hell and damnation, you attacked her, Gabriel!”

Gabriel let his head fall back against the rim of the tub, closing his eyes with a grimace. “I didn't intend to . . . it was her fault. She kept nattering away. I told her to shut it. She didn't listen.”

“And you think that gives you the right to lay hands on her, to attempt to strangle her? Christ, Gabriel.”

“Goddamnit!” Abruptly Gabriel sat up, the water sloshing over the rim of the tub. Glaring, he gestured to his eyes. “Look at what she did to
me
! She nearly blinded
me
!”