Page 27 of Taken By the Ripper
He continued, “The man who was killed in your home… The police will undoubtedly trace him back to me. They’ll search harder. It will put them in danger. It will putmein danger.” The deep breath he released shifted loose strands of hair aroundher face. “I need the police report destroyed. It won’t stop the investigation, but it will hinder it. Long enough for me to put a dent in the vampire coven.”
When his words finally sank past the haze created from his kiss alone, she blinked several times and bit her lip. “You cannot go after these vampires. They are dangerous.”
“I know.” He sighed. “But they still have vials left of my blood. They must be stopped.”
Shaking her head, she tried to wrap her mind around the danger. Especially after what she’d witnessed in the alleyway. “Why not destroy the documents yourself?”
“I would if I could. Believe me, I would never ask this of you otherwise.” He lifted a strand of her hair with one of his claws and delicately brought it to his nose, inhaling what must be her scent. Her cheeks warmed at the thought. “Like vampires, I can only prowl the night, and they are expecting me to do this. They are expecting me to go after the documents. The police station is surrounded. It would be an ambush.” He lifted his gaze to meet her eye. “Butyou…You can go during the day.”
She quickly shook her head. “But I don’t have a way in—” Her words ceased suddenly, and her eyes widened when she realized that wasn’t true. “You want me to abuse my connection with the detective.”
“I wouldn’t ask otherwise,” he repeated, running a claw up and down her arm.
The sensation of warmth and tingles were far too pleasant to resist, and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch. At the same time, she wondered what was wrong with her. He was a ghoul. A monster. This wasn’t supposed to be something a sane person enjoyed.
“The detective is a good man,” she accused. “I cannot trick him like this.”
“I’m sure he would understand.”
“I don’t think he would. This is his livelihood on the line.”
“He is hunting me. He would be walking into something even he cannot handle. Choosing between his livelihood and his life… What do you think he would pick if he truly understood?”
She stared at the ground with a troubled expression when she realized the ghoul was right. Claude La Cour would be walking straight into a dangerous situation, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to make him listen long enough to stop him, the stubborn man that he was.
Especially if she told him she’d received all her information from a very convincing ghoul.
“At least tell me your name,” she whispered, realizing she had no idea what to call him.
His sharp, toothy grin lifted at the corner of his lips. “For now, just call me Jack.”
The name sent a chilling thrill down her spine when she realized he referred to his “stage name.” But then she internally scoffed at the idea. Jack was trying to do something good. It was only a shame no one truly understood.
He left her with a lingering parting kiss, enough for her knees to grow weak and her lungs to become breathless. And then she watched as he slipped into the shadows and disappeared from sight.
After a moment, she brought her fingers to her lips where his kiss still tingled in a pleasant manner. And then she realized something entirely mad and nutty.
She liked Jack the Ripper far more than she should.
V
ery little could make Clara’s heart pound harder than walking toward the police station with a large secret on her shoulder and the weight of guilt on her mind. For all she knew, vampires could be watching somewhere from the shadows, unable to leap out at her because of the sunlight. She made sure to always keep one foot in the sunlight, going the long way around a building or two if only to keep out of the shadows.
Jack’s life might depend on her success today.
It was only a shame Claude had to be caught in the crossfire.
As she neared the large square building, she hesitated when a young boy waved a newspaper in his hand on the opposite side of the street, calling out to passersby to buy a copy of…
The Star.
It was as if her feet reacted on their own as she closed the remaining distance between them, shoved a penny into the boy’s hand, and made off with the newspaper.
Sure enough, front and center lay an image of a figure cloaked in shadows, the artist making the man large and bulky with a knife held in each hand. The headline read:The Ripper Strikes Again!
Her eyes flew over the article, but then she dropped it to her side in disgust. It depicted the murder from the infirmary, the very one the Ripper hadnotcommitted. Thankfully, they hadn’tpublicly disclosed the location of the murder, otherwise, people might be glancing her way.
They didn’t.
