Page 28 of Taken By the Ripper
“What a waste of an article,” she muttered under her breath before tucking the newspaper beneath her arm. “I want my money returned.”
Unfortunately, even if she tried, the boy would never agree to it. They carried their money tighter than a woman’s corset when trying to catch a husband.
Deciding not to stare at the police building any longer, she tightened her grip on the handle of her basket and marched inside as if she belonged there when in reality, her heart pounded hard in her chest, and a part of her felt as if she might vomit.
She was nervous. Why? She wasn’t entirely sure. But what shedidknow was she had never done something like this before—actively pursue a man even if it were under false pretenses like her own. Surely, Detective La Cour would figure out her game long before she managed to destroy those documents.
The police office was a hubbub of male voices, flipping papers, and whining civilians, giving an orderly chaos sort of atmosphere the moment she stepped inside the building. Several office doors were closed on the opposite side of the large room, though she managed to catch a glimpse of civilians and officers through the windows. Several rows of long desks lay in the center of the room with stacks of papers and folders, each filled with young men working hard to impress their boss, no doubt.
But what she didn’t find? The detective himself. Was he out researching the case? Had she missed him entirely? During lunch hour, she thought she would find him here of all places.
“Clara!” someone gasped behind her, and she spun around to find the detective in question staring at her with an open mouth as if she’d just flashed him an ankle. He held a mug in his handfilled with brown liquid she highly suspected was coffee, and it took all her restraint not to steal it from him and down the entire thing in a few gulps.
He’d probably let her, too.
The corner of her lips lifted in amusement. “Detective.”
“W-w-what are you doing here?” He hurried to fix his hair and pulled down his white sleeves until they covered his forearms. “And please, call me Claude.”
Her grin only grew wider. “Am I not allowed to visit you at work? Claude.” She tasted his given name in her mouth, though it felt foreign on her tongue as if she’d sampled a piece of chocolate she had not had the chance of enjoying in a long while.
She glanced toward the desks lined up in the room to find men staring at her as if she’d just flashed an ankle toward them, too. Each snapped their attention back to their work, though she acutely felt their focus on her, nonetheless.
When he still fussed with his clothing, she asked, “Is there a time when you arenotdrinking coffee? It’s the afternoon. Do you get any sleep at all?”
“It certainly feels like I don’t.” He chuckled, and she didn’t resist in the slightest as he handed over his mug, and she took it eagerly from his fingers.
Because…she hadn’t gotten much sleep, either. What with the murder in her home, Mazie’s accusations and acts of revenge, and Jack’s earth-rattling kiss. Not to mention the patients who still relied on her for their health.
What a mess, she thought to herself. How had she managed to find herself in this situation?
Again, her gaze passed over the police officers pretending to work. One even scribbled over one of his papers, but no ink touched the surface. “Is this what you do all day?” She turned a teasing grin toward the detective. “Aside from staring at corpses and bothering young nurses, of course.”
His mouth twitched at her jest before he nodded his head toward the hallway. He turned on his heel and led her down the corridor, and she followed, overly aware of a half-dozen pairs of eyes following her every movement. It was almost as if they’d never seen a woman before. However, judging by how muchClaudeworked, she could rightfully assume some, if not many, of the other officers worked hours enough to keep them from the opposite sex as well.
He led her into a dark room at the end of the hallway and pulled open the shutters. She blinked in surprise at the sudden sunlight entering through the window. But then she froze when she noticed thewalls.
Nearly every little piece of space on the walls was tacked with articles, pictures, strings, and everything in between, including a swath of gray fabric. It was as if everything was interconnected in the most bizarre fashion if the room was any indication.
“That does it,” she murmured, eyes wide as she turned in a full circle. “I suspected you were insane before, but this makes it official. I’m leaving. And I’m taking your coffee with me.”
She turned toward the door, but Claude quickly caught her by the elbow, laughing as he pulled her back into the room. “It’s not as bad as it appears,” he defended himself with a grin spread across his face. “I swear.”
Lifting an eyebrow, she surveyed the mess of strings appearing to lead nowhere and everywhere at once. “I beg to differ.”
She ducked her head beneath a particularly low-hanging string and surveyed the pin-cushion board littered with images and articles. Surprisingly, Claude didn’t stop her from rubbing the gray cloth between her fingers.
And then her veins froze over with ice when she recognized it as belonging to one of those vampires who had attacked herin the alleyway. It was the same material as the neckcloth he’d worn.
Coincidence? Or not?
“What is this?” she breathed, turning her head away to avoid revealing her thoughts.
Claude glanced toward the open door before lowering his voice. “We found blood in an alleyway. Only this was left behind.”
Her fingers shook around the mug of coffee, and she brought the warm liquid to her lips to try to hide it. “You think it belongs to the Ripper?”
“I don’t know.” He ran a hand over his chin and glanced from the door to his board. “The blood belonged to a vampire, but the Ripper’s attacks don’t coincide with that of a vampire. I’m not yet sure how this connects—if it does at all.”
