Laura Lee Guhrke (33 page)

She adapted to the pace he set, moving with him. It hurt a bit still, but she knew he was holding back nothing with her now, he was losing himself in her with passionate abandon, and she was glad.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, loving the feel of what was no longer pain but pleasure. The pleasure of giving.

Suddenly he clutched her tighter, she felt him shudder, and she knew she was giving him the same moment of intense, exquisite pleasure that he had given her moments before. His whole body went rigid for an instant, then he fell against her, breathing hard, his face buried against her hair.

After a few moments, he lifted his head and pulled back enough to look into her face. “Sophie,” he whispered, lifting one hand to caress her cheek. “I don’t ever want you to regret this night.”

“I won’t.”

“Neither will I.”

For a long time, she lay beneath him, content to simply savor the feel of his body, heavy and solid and reassuring, as she caressed his back and felt his breath against her ear.

After a few moments, he stirred. “I must be getting heavy.”

He pressed a kiss to her ear and rolled away from her. Then he rose from the bed.

With that movement, Sophie felt suddenly bereft. Without the heat of his body, she felt cold. “Where arc you going?”

He laughed. “Miss me already?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Sophie lifted herself on one elbow, watching him as he crossed the room. There was grace in the contours of his body, power in the knotted muscles of his back and arms, strength in his broad shoulders. It had never occurred to her before that a man’s body was beautiful, but Mick’s body was exactly that, more beautiful than any sculpture any artist could create. She smiled, enjoying the pleasure of simply watching him.

But when she saw him move as it to turn out the lamp, her smile vanished and she sat up in the bed, panicking. “Mick, don’t!” she cried. “Leave it on. I can’t sleep without a light.”

He met her gaze over the top of the lamp. “Sophie, the dark is harmless,” he said quietly, studying her face. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Oh, yes, there was. She knew there was plenty to be afraid of. Biting her lip, she turned her head away. She didn’t want him to think she was a coward. But when the light went out, she began to shake. She curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her bent knees, her fear smothering her.

She heard his footsteps as he came back toward the bed, but in the pitch blackness, she couldn’t see him.
When the sound of his footsteps stopped, she reached for him blindly. “Mick?”

He knelt on the bed, and his arms came up around her. “Sophie, it’s all right.”

Within the shelter of his arms, her fear gradually subsided. The feel of his body was like a protective wall between her and her dreams. “I don’t like the dark. I know it’s stupid to be afraid,” she whispered, “but I can’t help it.”

“It isn’t stupid. It’s understandable. If I had dreams about death and violence and could see the future, I’d be scared of the dark, too.”

“I can’t imagine you afraid of anything.”

“But I am.”

She turned her head and buried her face against his chest. “What are you afraid of?”

“Heaps of things,” he said carelessly.

“Such as?”

“Spiders.”

She couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

“That’s the last time I confess my secret fears to you,” he said with mock severity, moving to lie on his back.

She stretched out beside him, resting her weight on her elbow and her cheek in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she choked, trying to smother her laughter. “Really.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t apologize now. The damage is done.”

Smiling, Sophie reached out to touch him, spreading her fingers across his stomach. “What else are you afraid of?”

There was a long pause. Then he said, “Getting old.”

She caressed his hard stomach with her fingertips, “I wouldn’t worry about that,” she murmured. “It seems to me you’re in your prime.”

“Just don’t say I’m seasoned. That’s the worst.” Mick sat up and reached for the counterpane tangled around their feet. He pulled it over them both, then he slid one arm beneath her head to act as her pillow and wrapped his other arm around her waist. “You’re safe, Sophie,” he murmured, pulling her close against his body. “With me, you are safe.”

Within moments, she felt his body relax into lethargy, and she knew from, the even cadence of his breathing that he had fallen asleep.

She lay awake for a long time within the circle of his arms, her cheek against his shoulder, savoring a serenity she had never known before.

She loved this man. With him, she was safe. In his arms, she had peace. Even in the dark, she was not afraid. With him beside her, there was nothing to fear tonight. As for tomorrow, she’d worry about that when it came.

A loud pounding on his door woke Mick from a sound sleep. “What the hell?” he muttered, sitting up in bed as a man’s voice began calling his name.

“Mick! Mick! God, I hope you’re here!”

He was not awake enough to recognize the voice, but beside him Sophie whispered, “It’s a policeman,” She fumbled in the dark and grabbed his hand in hers. “Mick, I know something terrible has happened.”

Mick hoped that just this once, Sophie’s psychic senses weren’t working. “I’m here,” he called back in
answer to the knocks on his door as he got out of bed. To Sophie, he whispered, “For the sake of your reputation, I don’t want him to see you. Slide back against the wall and pile the covers over your head.”

It was still pitch black, so Mick lit a lamp. He pulled on a pair of trousers, then opened the door.

Sophie was right. Standing outside his flat, his fist raised to knock again, was Constable Fletcher, one of the young officers on duty last night at Sophie’s house. “Thank God you’re here,” the young constable said at the sight of him. “When they couldn’t find you at Mill Street, they had me searching everywhere for you.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“There’s been another murder, sir.”

Mick felt sick. “Another policeman?”

“Yes, sir, and killed the same way as Jack Hawthorne. River Police officer named Richard Munro.”

“Richard? River Police?” At the constable’s confirming nod, Mick felt a vague stirring of memory. He’d seen Richard not long ago, but he couldn’t remember the circumstances. “Where?”

“His body was found at Bull Wharf Lane, just west of the Southwark Bridge.”

“I know where it is. I’ll go at once. Fletcher, I suggest you return to your post.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man started to turn away, but Mick stopped him. “Fletcher?”

“Yes, sir?” The young constable looked at him inquiringly.

Mick hesitated, not certain how to phrase the question. “Does anyone at Mill Street know about this?”

“No, sir. Sergeant Thacker came in search of you,
but I was on guard out front and he asked me if you were there. I said no, you had not come in all night. He sent me in search of you and returned to the crime scene. I decided to try your flat.”

Mick nodded. “Very good. You may go.”

The constable departed. As soon as Mick shut the door, Sophie emerged from beneath the covers. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. “Heaven help us,” she murmured. “I was right.”

Mick raked a hand through his hair. “I wish you were wrong.”

Eighteen
 

Heartsick and exhausted, Sophie sank down in the chair across from Mick’s desk and leaned forward, covering her face with her shaking hands. The picture of the bloody body in Bull Wharf Lane was still vivid in her mind two hours after viewing the scene with Mick. “Just like Jack Hawthorne,” she moaned softly. “Why? Why is he doing this?”

“I wish you’d tell me.”

At the sound of Mick’s voice, she sat up and turned her head to see him standing in the doorway of his office holding a cup of tea.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on in this bloke’s head?” Mick asked as he handed her the cup.

“No. He’s mad. He’s evil. But why?” She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She lifted the teacup but did not
take a sip of the amber-colored liquid. “This isn’t tea. It’s brandy.”

“I thought that would do you a bit more good than tea,” he said and circled his desk to sit down.

“I suppose so.” She took a swallow of brandy, then set the cup on the desk and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “So often, I wish I could just sense things on command. But it doesn’t work that way.”

“I know.” He studied her for a moment, then stood up. “I’m going to have an officer take you home. There’s nothing more you can do here. It’s nearly dawn, and you need to get some sleep.”

She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to help. “Mick—”

“Don’t argue with me.” He walked to her chair and pulled her to her feet. “Look at it this way. You’ll be of more use to me once you’ve had some sleep. You certainly haven’t had much of that during this past night.”

This was the first time either of them had mentioned the pleasure they had shared. After all that had happened since, their lovemaking almost seemed like a dream to Sophie. A wonderful dream, followed by a horrible nightmare. Suddenly, she started to sob.

“Steady on,” he said, and his arms came up around her. “It’s all right,” he murmured against her hair. “You’ve had a shock, that’s all.”

She buried her face against his broad chest, grasping the folds of his shirt in her hands. “I should have seen this before it happened,” she cried. “I should have known. Why didn’t I see it? I might have prevented it, Mick. I might have prevented it.”

“Ssh,” he murmured, stroking her back in a soothing
motion. “There’s nothing you could have done. As you said, you don’t have impressions on command.”

“Yes, but—”

“Hush, now. Don’t do this to yourself.” He pulled back and grasped her shoulders. “You are not to blame. The one to blame is the monster that killed these men. And we’re going to find that monster.” He gave her a little shake, and his voice rose. “It’s not your fault. Do you hear me?”

She took a deep breath, striving for control. “Yes,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I think half the people on this floor heard you.”

“To hell with them.” He reached for the cup on his desk and pressed it to her lips. “Here, finish your brandy.”

She took the cup and swallowed the remainder of the liquor. Coughing, she handed the cup back to him, “Any more of this,” she gasped, “and I’ll be drunk.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. “Go home and rest. If I hear any news, I’ll let you know.”

“All right. But if I sense anything, I’m coming straight back, and don’t you argue with me.”

He leaned closer to her. “One night in my bed, and you’re already giving me orders?”

She knew he was teasing, being deliberately provoking in order to distract her. But nothing could prevent her from going home with a heavy heart. Nothing could prevent her from feeling that somehow she should have been able to prevent the death of Richard Munro.

It was nearly half past nine in the morning when the carriage with the Scotland Yard insignia pulled to a
stop in front of Sophie’s house. A huge crowd of reporters was gathered on the front walk. Dismayed, she realized that word of the new murder and her presence at that crime scene had spread to all the newspaper reporters in London by now.

The constable who’d accompanied Sophie got out of the carriage first, and she was relieved to see young Fletcher step forward out of the crowd to join his fellow officer. Fletcher led her up the walk to the door, using his truncheon to keep the reporters at bay, and the other constable walked behind her to protect her back, but the two men couldn’t stop the questions the journalists fired at her.

“Miss Haversham, are you using psychic powers to assist the police with this new murder?”

“Who killed Detective Munro?”

“Why is this fiend murdering policemen?”

“What does the killer mean by removing their hearts?”

“Who will be next?”

Sophie walked with one constable in front of her and one behind, her lips pressed tight together, saying nothing. As they reached the front door it was flung open by Auntie, and the moment Sophie was safely inside and the door was closed, Violet’s arms wrapped around her.

“Sophie, oh heavens!” she cried. “At last you’re home. We have been worried to death!”

The hug felt so warm and comforting that Sophie nearly burst into tears again. She pulled back, trying to keep her tears at bay. “Auntie, I’m sorry, but I’ve had no chance to get word to you about what’s happened.”

“We’ve been quite alarmed, Miss Sophie.”

She turned at the sound of Grimstock’s voice, and noticed that he, Hannah, Marjorie, and all the lodgers were gathered at one end of the foyer.

“I’m sorry I’ve worried all of you so much, but honestly, I am just I’ve.” Her voice broke, and she had to pause a moment. She was not going to break down, not in front of everyone, not in front of Auntie.

She turned to the servants. “Marjorie, I haven’t eaten all night. Do you think you could fix me a bit of breakfast and some tear Hannah, please get hot water going for a bath for me. Grimmy, you may take these. If any of you need me, I’ll be in the conservatory.” She handed her pink silk shawl, fan, and evening bag to the butler, then she turned to her aunt.