Page 23 of Taken By the Ripper
When her tears finally dried, she cleared her throat. “Did…did you ever figure out what that monster was?” she asked nonchalantly. “Jack the Ripper, I mean.”
He frowned as he placed the filled basket on the table between them. “I don’t know. I’ve even provided the evidence to my colleagues, and they haven’t seen anything quite like it.” A small grimace pulled on the skin around his eyes as he pushed himself from the ground and sat in one of the armchairs. “I believe we are looking at a creature that hasn’t existed in a long time. Decades—perhaps even centuries. We don’t have much information in our files. I will need to get closer. Gather more evidence.” He paused as if contemplating. “I need to see this creature myself to figure out what it is.”
“No!” she cried, thinking of how the ghoul had protected her, how he had spoken to her softly and touched her with such tenderness. But when La Cour lifted an eyebrow, she backtracked, “If it’s a creature that hasn’t existed in a long time, one that is fast enough and smart enough to evade the authorities, perhaps you shouldn’t get involved.”
The statement didn’t have its intended effect, not when the detective’s mouth lifted in a smirk, and he leaned forward on his cane to pierce her with an intense, knowing stare.
“You care about my well-being, Miss Thompson? Well, perhaps my flowerswerewell-received.”
She returned his smirk with a scowl. “Except for the part where they lay mangled in a basket. You still have not told me the truth. What do you want from me?”
His eyes sparked with a burning fire filled with amusement and perhaps a bit of excitement. “Not easy to woo, hmm? I can’t resist a challenge.”
“There is nothing to challenge. Now why are you here? The vampire-bite patient still hasn’t woken. You may check on him, if you’d like.”
“Yes, I would like to. We’ll have to adhere to decorum later.”
“Mmhmm. The decorum of tea, which you may or may not drink depending on your mood.”
“Yes.” He grinned. “That one.”
This time, she allowed him to lead, as he seemed to know his way around already. His slight limp drew her attention as they ventured down the hallway, and curiosity got the best of her.
“How did you hurt your leg?” she asked hesitantly, not knowing whether it was a sensitive subject.
He frowned. “An assignment gone wrong, I believe.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
For a moment, it was almost as if his soul left his body the way he stared forward with a tortured expression. As if he were somewhere other than the present. “I do not wish to speak of it.”
“Very well.”
Despite how the detective seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice, he certainly was quite a mystery. A leg injury from an assignment gone wrong. A kiss with a demon that she suspectedwasn’t actually from ademon. She wasn’t entirely surewhatto believe about him.
When they stepped into the infirmary, the heavy scent of metal startled her eyes wide open. She rushed toward the vampire-bite patient and threw open his privacy curtain.
The man was ripped open and covered in his own blood. His eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, hardly discernible against the flecks of red on his face.
She didn’t need to take his pulse to know he was dead.
“I don’t understand!” she gasped. “I checked on him this morning! He was still alive a couple hours ago.” When she remembered he was a detective working on the Whitechapel police force, she spun toward La Cour. “I didn’t do this, I swear! I have alibis. My sisters and patients can surely confirm my whereabouts. And…”
Her words trailed off when he bent at the waist. He clutched his stomach with one hand while the other clamped over his mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Pardon? You’re supposed to be a detective. How can you not stand the sight of a little blood?”
“A little?” he squeaked. “This is more than just a little. Besides, I must first mentally prepare myself beforehand. I am not currently prepared.”
Before she managed another word, he stumbled toward the waste bin resting against the wall and vomited inside. Perhaps her first instinct should have been to comfort him and provide him with medicine to help quell his queasiness, but she couldn’t help but stare in shock. For someone who dealt with scenarios such as this on an ongoing basis, he was certainly overreacting.
“Who could have done this?” she murmured, turning from him entirely to examine what was left of the patient. This time, it was messy unlike the other Jack the Ripper killings. Messy anduncontrolled. Directionless. Had the ghoul done this? But the victim was a man and not a woman, so it couldn’t be true.
Could it?
Detective La Cour approached with a handkerchief covering his mouth, his face a pale shade of green. After a moment, he shook his head. “This wasn’t done by the Ripper. This was something else.”
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